


Dudley Dursley and the Sorcerer's Stone

by mannelig



Series: Second Chances [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canon Rewrite, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:58:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 59,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mannelig/pseuds/mannelig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dudley Dursley, 37, has only just put his daughter on the Hogwarts Express and said goodbye when Platform 9 3/4 is attacked. In the ensuing explosion, he blacks out - and wakes up as an eleven year old back in Privet Drive. Confused and wary, he finds himself blundering through his life all over again, and unfortunately, being eleven isn't the only surprise in store.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

  
  
    The morning air on the first of September was crisp and sweet, with only a chilly breeze to suggest Autumn’s approach. It was the kind of morning that would brighten anyone’s spirits, and not even trudging through the fumes of mid-morning traffic could put a damper on it. The little family crossing to the station, however, barely noticed. Two large cages rattled on top of the packed trolleys the parents were pushing, the owls inside hooting indignantly at every bump. The small redheaded girl trailed tearfully behind her brothers, lower lip thrust out in utter misery as she clutched her father’s sleeve.  
  
    “It won’t be long now, and you’ll be going too.” Harry’s voice was laden with fond exasperation, though this was obviously not a new conversation.  
  
    “Two years,” was Lily’s plaintive reply. “I want to go now!”  
  
    Before anything more could be said, Dudley and his daughter emerged from the crowd and fell into step beside Harry, who flashed them a tired grin. “Morning, Harry. Morning, Ginny,” Dudley said, with a weary grimace of his own. He, too, was pushing a cart, though the cage on top of this one contained a very irate cat.  
  
    “Morning, Dudley.”  
  
    “Morning.”  
  
    Ariana, who was Dudley’s oldest, had darted ahead to talk to James - who was in her year - and Albus, and the latter’s voice carried back to them over the noise.  
  
    “I won’t! I won’t be in Slytherin!”  
  
    “Lay _off_ , James,” Ariana said, tying her hair back with her new yellow-and-black ribbon. “Obviously he’ll be in Hufflepuff with me. Are you trying out for Quidditch this year?”  
  
    Ignoring Al’s protests that he didn’t want to be in Hufflepuff, either, the two older children immediately began to argue over who was the better player and which team was likely to win the Cup. Harry and Dudley shared a wry look.  
  
    “How’s Padma?” Harry finally asked as they approached the barrier.  
  
    “She’s doing better,” Dudley said. “Harriet and Parvati were still feverish when we left, though.”  
  
    The smaller of the two men winced in sympathy - the twins were Lily’s age, and more sickly than their athletic older sister. Everyone who knew them dreaded the day they went to Hogwarts, because the girls were also prone to mischief, and being sick only made it worse.  
  
    They passed through the barrier and joined the others, Ariana and James sticking around only long enough to grab their trolleys from their fathers and vanish into the mist. “Where are they?” Albus asked, staring intently through the steam from the Hogwarts Express as they made their way down the platform.  
  
    “We’ll find them,” Ginny replied confidently.  
  
    Eventually, they reached the last carriage and found their quarry. Ron and Hermione hugged the Potters and shook Dudley’s hand, and to his relief, their smiles were genuine. They’d been understandably wary last year, when Ariana had started at Hogwarts, but then Padma had been there to stare them down.  
  
    “-didn’t believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you?” Ron was now saying, throwing a cheeky grin at his wife. “She thought I’d have to Confund the examiner.”  
  
    Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “No, I didn’t,” she said in a voice that said she Very Much Did, patting his shoulder. “I had complete faith in you.” And she drew Ginny into a conversation about work. Ron turned to help Harry lift Albus’s trunk onto the train, and judging by their grins, Dudley suspected he had, in fact, Confunded the poor examiner. He shook his head and checked his watch, wondering if he should call Padma after he saw the train off.  
  
    As he debated the idea of stopping to pick up lunch on the way, someone said, “Look who it is.”  
  
    That tone of voice meant only one person, and he lifted his head to look in the same direction everyone else was staring. The steam had thinned, and there stood the Malfoys, prim and respectable as ever. Dudley smiled in greeting, and Draco, who had nodded curtly to the others, gave him the faintest of smiles before turning away. His son stared curiously at Dudley before turning to his mother to ask a question.  
  
    “So that’s little Scorpius,” said Ron under his breath, sneering over the name. “Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank Merlin you inherited your mother’s brains.”  
  
    “Ron, for heaven’s sake,” Hermione said, exasperated. “Don’t try to turn them against each other before they’ve even started school!”  
  
    “You’re right, sorry.” Ron looked about as far from sorry as one could reasonably get, and, unable to help himself, added, “Don’t get too friendly with him, though, Rosie. Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood.”  
  
    Rose, however, was not listening, because at that moment, Ariana and James had turned up, the latter fit to burst with excitement. They’d divested themselves of pets, trunks, and trolleys, and Ariana had hastily thrown her robes on over her jeans and t-shirt.  
  
    “Teddy’s back there,” James said breathlessly, pointing back over his shoulder into the billowing clouds of steam. “Just seen him! And guess what he’s doing? Snogging Victoire!” He gazed up at the adults with the air of one bringing tremendously important news, and was disappointed by the lack of reaction. “Our Teddy! Teddy Lupin! Snogging our Victoire! Our cousin! And I asked Teddy what he was doing-”  
  
    “You interrupted them?” said Ginny. “You are so like Ron-”  
  
    “He’s an idiot,” said Ariana primly.  
  
    “-and he said he’d come to see her off! And then he told me to go away! He’s _snogging_ her!” James added, as though worried he hadn’t made himself clear. Ariana rolled her eyes.  
  
    “Oh, it would be lovely if they got married,” whispered Lily sarcastically.  
  
    “Teddy would really be part of the family then!”  
  
    As the family descended into affectionate bickering, Ariana sidled up to her father and tugged on his sleeve, staring up at him with serious brown eyes. “Make sure the twins stay out of my room,” she said. “Please?”  
  
    Dudley patted her hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep it locked up. Let us know when your first Quidditch match is, okay?”  
  
    She let go of his sleeve and grabbed him for a hug, squeezing as tight as her little arms allowed. “You better not forget to write me,” she mumbled as he hugged her back, and he smiled broadly as, not a moment later, she pulled away to punch James in the arm for calling her a baby.  
  
    Finally, the children boarded the train, Ariana and James staying only to wave before rushing off to find their friends. Harry quietly spoke to Albus about his fear of being sorted into Slytherin, then let him go after one final hug, and the adults all stood together and watched the train ease out of the station.  
  
    When it was out of sight, Dudley turned back to Harry and the others, and his cousin smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was friendlier than it had been. “Fancy coming to lunch, Dud?” he asked.  
  
    Dudley shook his head. “I’d love to, but I need to get home,” he said with a rueful grin, and didn’t miss the subtle relief on their faces. “The twins are probably driving Padma up the wall.”  
  
    The others, knowing full well what the twins were like, groaned. “Well, some other time, then,” Harry said as the group began to move back towards the barrier. “Give them our love, will you?”  
  
    He was just opening his mouth to reply when there was a terrific rumbling noise, and the platform gave a violent heave. Dudley hit the ground with a pained grunt, and something exploded near his elbow, sending pavement flying. Through the screaming, he could hear Harry issuing orders, and struggled to get up. He lifted his head just in time to see a pillar collapse and fall towards him, and then something struck him from behind and his world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! This is incredibly exciting for me, in part because I haven't written any fic since 2007, and it's been even longer since I've tried my hand at Harry Potter fic.
> 
> The whole idea behind this fic was taking a Muggle character, giving him the tiniest magic possible, and sticking him in Hogwarts in a position where he could influence both the political climate of the Wizarding world and the outcome of the War. I thought it would be even better to make it time travel, so that he would know that something terrible was coming, but he would have no idea of the details or of any way to stop it. All he would know were a few words that people had told him.
> 
> As for the pairing of Dudley and Padma, I knew I wanted to have him married to a witch. I also knew that I wanted her to be a lot more intelligent. Even so, it's completely out of left field, and that, I have to admit, was also part of the appeal. It seemed to fit, and I like to think that they met by accident and were kind of spiky for a while.
> 
> A NOTE: This fic contains material lifted directly/paraphrased from the first book. I'd like to eventually come back and change that, because I don't like it, but as it stands, I don't have the time or motivation.


	2. Awakening

**CHAPTER ONE**

  
  
    Dudley sat bolt upright, panting heavily, screams still echoing in his ears and light flashing in front of his eyes. As his heart slowed to a normal pace, he realized that he was in a dark bedroom, not lying on the ground at King’s Cross, and sighed shakily, rubbing his aching head. _Just a dream_ , he thought to himself, and reached out to his sleeping wife to reassure himself.  
  
    His hand hit a wall.  
  
    Panic choked him, and in his struggle to get out of bed, he fell clumsily to the floor, tangled in the bedsheets. The impact startled him enough that he lay there a moment in shock, and during that time, his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He looked around, frowning at the toys and clothing strewn about the space, and slowly picked himself up. He surmised that the attack had been real, and that Ron and Hermione must have taken him in, because this wasn’t Harry’s house - though why they wouldn’t take him to a hospital, he wasn’t sure. At any rate, Ariana was safe at Hogwarts, and he’d get an owl from her in the morning. Padma and the twins were at home, safely guarded by Aurors if there was a need, or else waiting for his return. Something still seemed off, though, and he felt heavy and cramped, so he made his way quietly to the door, deciding to investigate.  
  
    He opened it to a very familiar hallway, and gripped the door so tightly in horror that he distantly wondered if it would break. Even dimly lit by a nightlight, there was no mistaking this hall for any other. He moved quietly down it and opened the bathroom to look for something he could use to defend himself. Obviously whoever had taken the time to construct something like this just to play with a Muggle was sick and twisted. Considering the house at Privet Drive had burned down years ago during the war, the only way to remake it so perfectly would be to use someone’s memories.  
  
    As he rummaged in a drawer, Dudley’s hand closed on a curling iron and he lifted it, smothering a slightly hysterical laugh. _Look, Ari,_ he thought to his absent daughter, _now I’ve got a wand._ He quickly wrapped the cord round his wrist to keep it out of the way, and as he did, he happened to glance up into the mirror. What he saw made him freeze, the cord slipping from senseless fingers. The face that stared back at him was not the face of a thirty-something father - it was the face of a frightened child.  
  
    He stared blankly for several long minutes, until the words _time_ and _spell_ wormed their way into his head. What were those things called? Time changers? But he didn’t think it was possible to put someone back in their old body, which meant it had to be an illusion dredged up by his captors. He slowly unwrapped the curling iron cord and placed the whole thing back in the drawer, because it suddenly struck him that whoever had the strength to do this would not be daunted in the least by hairstyling tool. Dudley still couldn’t shake the idea that he had somehow traveled back in time, even though he knew that he had to be stuck in an illusion, and mulled it over as he trudged back to a bedroom he hadn’t seen in years.  
  
    In fact, he was still awake when his mother checked in on him a few hours later.  
  
    The door opened quietly and Petunia craned her neck around the door, softly calling, “Wake up, Dudders.” When she saw that he was, in fact, awake, she opened the door fully in surprise, then beamed indulgently. “Oh, sweetums, up early because it’s your birthday?”  
  
    Dudley, feeling more than a little blindsided by this development, was unsure how to proceed. The last time he’d seen his mother had been before the twins had shown magical talent. She’d been a frail, birdlike thing, hair gone white from the stress the war had put on her, and they’d gotten in a row over how she favored the still nonmagical twins over Ariana. Finally, though, he managed a reply that he barely heard, and then she was fussing over him and urging him to get dressed. Feeling rather like he’d been attacked by a small hurricane - had she always done this? - Dudley was herded downstairs into the kitchen, where Vernon was poring over the newspaper and a scrawny, dark-haired boy was making breakfast. This, too, was a jarring sight. Vernon had been dead a couple years now, and Harry, well. He’d just seen Harry, the confident war hero, the Auror. He forced himself not to stare, suddenly aware that it would draw unwanted attention to the small Not Harry. Illusion or not, he fervently wished to avoid that.  
  
    “So!” Vernon boomed cheerily, lowering his paper, “Eleven! Our Dudley is growing up, eh?” He gestured to Dudley, and Petunia, who still had her guiding hands on his shoulders, pressed a wet, lipstick-y kiss to the side of his face before taking her seat at the table. Feeling more strange by the second, Dudley moved to stand beside his father, who tousled his hair with a chuckle. “All right, have a look,” he said, and it took a moment for Dudley to realize that he was talking about the mountain of presents. Dudley stared at them with barely concealed horror.  
  
    Harry, bringing breakfast to the table, looked at him curiously, then sat down and began to devour his bacon like it had personally wronged him. Petunia and Vernon, noting his hesitation, exchanged a worried look that Dudley saw reflected in the picture frame across the room. Moving as if in a dream, he went to the presents and picked up the first parcel, turning it over in his pudgy hands and wondering what on Earth was going on. The phone rang, then, and Petunia went to answer it, and with Harry and Vernon watching with varying degrees of wariness, Dudley began to open his presents for the second time. None of them were particularly interesting to a man in his thirties, but they were a veritable treasure trove to a child - a racing bike, a VCR, video games. He realized, as he unwrapped a gold wristwatch, that he had no idea how his parents could afford so many gifts. Oh, sure, there were a few from other people, but the majority weren’t. The most expensive ones, it seemed, had been bought by the Dursleys.  
  
    Petunia returned, looking worried and angry, and Dudley happily left the presents alone in favor of listening in. “Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs. Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.” She jerked her head in Harry’s direction, and all at once, Dudley remembered exactly how things had gone on this particular birthday. The memory was eerily clear in a way it really shouldn’t have been, considering it had been twenty-six years.  
  
    “We could phone Marge,” Vernon suggested.  
  
    “Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.” Dudley glanced discreetly at Harry, who looked torn between hope and resignation, and decided that illusion or not, he couldn’t let things continue as they were.  
  
    “What about what’s-her-name, your friend - Yvonne?”  
  
    “On vacation in Majorca,” Petunia snapped, growing more irate by the moment. Seeing Harry open his mouth - _“You could just leave me here.”_ \- Dudley chose that moment to interrupt.  
  
    “Let’s take him with us,” he said, just barely remembering to grunt it out as if he were annoyed. Three heads whipped round to stare at him in shock, and he put on what he hoped was a belligerent face. “He can’t stay here or in the car, so let him come to the zoo.” He tried to speak as if that were the end of the matter, and turned back to the presents before they could shake their disbelief. From the corner of his eye, he could see Harry’s mouth hanging open in surprise.  
  
    “D-Dudley, dear,” Petunia crooned, getting hold of herself and putting an arm around his shoulders, “you’re such a sweet, good boy. I know you don’t really want him to come with us, I’m sure we can find someone to watch him so your day with Piers isn’t ruined-”  
  
    Piers. Dudley had completely forgotten about him. “I don’t really want to see Piers,” he blurted before he could think better of it. He added, lamely, “He’s, er, a giant prat. Harry can come instead.”  
  
    Another stunned silence fell over the room, and Dudley gathered up the discarded wrappings, slipping out of his mother’s grasp to throw it away. Praying fervently that he hadn’t just screwed himself, he gathered what items he could easily hold and left the kitchen, taking the toys upstairs to forget about them. Behind him, he heard Petunia murmur, “They must’ve had a fight. I’ll go call Mrs. Polkiss, let her know.” As she walked away, Vernon warned Harry to behave and not do anything Strange or Unnatural, and Dudley huffed a laugh. He set his gifts down in the smallest bedroom, then stared at it, frowning, before returning downstairs to bring everything else up. The racing bike was banished to the garden for the time being, and, finally, he sat down to eat his cooling breakfast. Vernon and Petunia had, by then, disappeared from the kitchen, and Harry was at the sink, the sleeves of his too-large t-shirt rolled up as far as he could get them, scrubbing furiously at the dirty dishes. Dudley picked at his food, frowning again.  
  
    It had taken Harry several years to stop looking as if he wanted to hex him on sight, for all that they’d gotten in touch after the war and their children grew up as playmates. If it hadn’t been for his marriage to Padma - and the look on his cousin’s face at the wedding had been priceless - they probably wouldn’t have become so friendly at all, and even now it was awkward to be around each other for long. If this wasn’t an illusion, and Dudley had to admit that it seemed too elaborate for that, then he had a chance to correct some of his wrongs early. It would be stupid to waste it.  
  
    Decision made, he got to his feet, and Harry looked at up in mild alarm. Putting back on the belligerent face, Dudley said, “Finish up my breakfast, Harry, I don’t want it.” And he elbowed the smaller boy away from the sink as gently as he could before taking up the washing himself.  
  
    “I-” Harry started, but fell into a frustrated silence, unable to think of anything to say.  
  
    “Go on,” Dudley said gruffly. “Don’t make yourself sick, I won’t clean that up.” He could feel his cousin hover uncertainly behind him, then move away, and when Dudley glanced back, Harry was shooting wary looks at the door between bites of fried egg. It seemed that for the moment, he’d chosen to count his blessings, thinking that if he could finish fast enough, no one would suspect anything.  
  
    So focused was Dudley on keeping an eye on Harry that he was astonished to find that the dishes were suddenly clean and neatly put away. While he stared, perplexed, Harry shuffled up behind him and attempted to regain control of the sink so he could take care of his now-empty plate and silverware. Dudley obliged, then took the dishes once they’d been washed and quickly dried them before putting them away. When it was done, they stood in awkward silence a moment before Harry blurted, “Why are you being nice?”  
  
    Without thinking, Dudley replied, “Because it’s not right, the way they - we - treat you.” Harry stared at him. Before either could say anything else, though, Petunia returned. She hesitated, and Dudley stepped towards her to save her the trouble. She smiled at him and straightened his hair.  
  
    “Mrs. Polkiss is bringing over your presents that she and Piers got you, and then we’ll be on our way to the zoo, sweetums,” she said. “Why don’t you go play with your new things?”  
  
    Dudley, seeing his opportunity, decided that he could probably get away with one more thing before the zoo trip. He gazed up at his mother with every shread of wide-eyed innocence he could dredge up. “Mum, I’ve been thinking.” He heard Harry snort quietly in spite of himself, and had to struggle not to grin. Even he could admit his younger self hadn’t been fond of the exercise. “Can’t Harry sleep in the spare bedroom? I don’t like anything in there and I want my new things to go in the cupboard. It’s-” he struggled momentarily to come up with something slightly believable, “it’s easier to reach, and it has a latch.” It was pathetic, but he’d never been much good at lying. Fortunately, his mother had never been much good at resisting him. _Though if I’m being honest,_ he thought sourly, _that was probably because I’d throw a fit if I didn’t get my way._  
  
    Petunia looked like she’d swallowed a lemon, but when he let his lower lip tremble ominously, she released a smile that was more of a grimace. “Yes,” she said after a moment, sounding falsely cheery. “Yes of course. Anything for you, my darling.” To Harry, she snapped, “Get your things upstairs in five minutes or you’ll be sleeping in the garden shed.”  
  
    Shooting Dudley a look of pure disbelief, Harry darted out of the kitchen before she could change her mind. Dudley made himself beam at his mother before escaping upstairs himself.  
  
  
    They made it to the zoo with only minor casualties; Vernon shouted at the traffic, then shouted at Harry after the boy made a poorly timed comment about flying motorcycles, then shouted about the price of parking. The boys - Dudley reflecting on how strange it was to be back in that age group - spent most of their time trailing behind the adults, who were trying rather desperately to get Dudley excited about the animals. Honestly, he couldn’t even remember why his younger self had wanted to go to the zoo in the first place, but he obligingly looked at every exhibit they passed. Harry, on the other hand, was staring at everything, head swiveling round sometimes so sharply that Dudley half worried that it’d come right off. When they stopped for ice cream, Dudley ordered two and gave one to Harry, and the lady in the van cooed over what a sweet boy he was, which made his parents immediately puff themselves up in pride and forget their annoyance at Harry having anything nice.  
  
    After lunch, they went to the reptile house. Dudley kept an eye on his cousin and made sure to keep a reasonable distance away, because while he didn’t remember exactly how the snake had got out, he knew that if it happened again, Harry would be locked up for a very long time.  
  
    He felt, afterwards, that he should have realized they wouldn’t be so lucky.  
  
    One moment, he was staring intently at a lizard and trying not to worry about the cage thing, and the next, Petunia was grabbing Vernon’s arm and hissing, “Vernon! That stupid boy is talking to a snake. People are starting to stare, make him stop it this instant!” There was a strange note of fear in her voice, and Dudley stowed that away to think about later.  
  
    He trailed after Vernon, the two of them making a beeline for Harry, who was obliviously chatting with a very familiar boa constrictor. Dudley arrived in time to hear Harry utter a series of complicated hissing noises before Vernon grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck. He was red-faced and gearing up for a good rant when Dudley purposely trod on his own shoelaces and tripped into him. Vernon dropped Harry, the glass on the cage disappeared, and Dudley stared up from where he’d fallen to the floor as Vernon toppled into the cage. The boa constrictor took his leave, politely slithering around the large man in its former home, and paused only to hiss at Harry before serenely making his way to the door, snapping playfully at the heels of panicking zoo patrons. Harry and Dudley exchanged a horrified look, then turned to stare at Vernon, who’d gotten to his feet and was now beating his fist on the pristine glass of the cage, roaring angrily.  
  
    The zoo director apologized to them personally, offering tea, but Vernon, newly freed from the cage and bristling with anger, completely ignored him in favor of hauling everyone to the car. The drive home was uncomfortably silent, and when they arrived, Vernon banished Harry to the cupboard, only to get angrier when he was reminded that Harry had relocated. He collapsed on the sofa in wordless rage, Petunia hurrying to fetch him a brandy, and Harry fled upstairs. Dudley deemed it safest to follow, and spent the rest of the afternoon helping Harry attempt to quietly clean the room up. They didn’t speak much, but by the time dinner was ready, they’d managed to clear up most of the useless junk.  
  
    Things continued in this fashion until July. Harry still had to do chores, but Dudley helped when he could get away with it, and when Harry inevitably got yelled at for something, they’d hide in Harry’s new room and play video games. Dudley didn’t dare push his parents too far, not when Harry’s Hogwarts letter would be arriving soon, and he was wary of trying too hard to be nice to Harry, who was intensely suspicious of him. But until summer break began, he did his best to see that Harry was left alone at school, and they slowly entered into an uneasy alliance.  
  
    By early July, it was abundantly clear to Dudley that he was not, in fact, living in an illusion. Padma had gotten him several books on magical theory when they first started dating, and he knew enough to surmise that no one would go to this much trouble for him, of all people. Something this elaborate would take multiple people, all with an outstanding grasp on charms, and he doubted that many wizards would have an understanding of Little Whinging intimate enough to recreate it. The hows and whys of his apparent time travel weighed heavily on his mind, however, and because he expected things to be much the same as they had the first time around, it came as quite a shock when they didn’t.  
  
  
    He was in the kitchen with Harry eating cereal, the both of them pretending they couldn’t smell the clothing Petunia was dyeing on the stove, when the doorbell rang. Vernon shouted from a distant corner of the house, and Dudley got to his feet before Petunia could order Harry to the door. “I’ll get it,” he said, and slipped out of the room. He was pretty sure this was the day the letter came, but when he looked down at the mail in front of the door, he didn’t see parchment. He picked it up anyway, then, on a hunch, stood on his toes to look through the peephole. Seeing a pointed hat, he opened the door.  
  
    There was a witch on the front step - except that it wasn’t just any witch. It was Minerva McGonagall. He’d only met her once or twice, and then only because she was Headmistress in his time, but there was no mistaking her, though she was younger and stronger. Dudley swallowed, then realized he was staring and said, “Er, may I help you?”  
  
    “I believe so,” she said, with an air of faint amusement, as though she was used to seeing gobsmacked expressions on people’s faces. “Are your parents at home?”  
  
    “Yes,” Dudley said, then quickly jerked the door open fully and stepped aside. “Please, er, come in.” She inclined her head, then entered the house in a graceful swish of robes, and he shut the door behind her before hurrying to the kitchen. “Mum, someone’s here to see you and dad,” he said, a little breathlessly, and sat at the table as McGonagall swept in. Petunia looked up, then shrieked. Harry jumped, startled, and Vernon came barrelling downstairs, arriving in the kitchen with a glob of shaving cream stuck to his cheek.  
  
    “What’s happened?” he demanded, then caught sight of McGonagall and turned a strange, pasty color. The shaving cream slid gently down his slack face and splattered on the floor.  
  
    The witch merely raised an eyebrow before producing two thick envelopes from a pocket. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, my name is Minerva McGonagall. I am Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I have come to personally deliver these.” She handed the envelopes to Harry and Dudley, both of whom were in a state of shock.  
  
    “This- this can’t be right,” Dudley whispered, staring down at his, but just like Harry’s, it was addressed to the very room he slept in.  
  
                          Mr. D. Dursley  
                          The Second Largest Bedroom  
                          4 Privet Drive  
                          Little Whinging  
                          Surrey  
  
    “I can assure you, Mr. Dursley,” McGonagall said, voice surprisingly gentle, “there is no mistake.”  
  
    Harry, meanwhile, had opened his letter and begun to read. “Hang on,” he said. “What does this mean?” He looked up at the Deputy Headmistress with wide, uncertain eyes. “I - we’re - _magic_?”  
  
    “You are both wizards, yes.” She eyed them, then gave Petunia a stern look. “You haven’t told them about Hogwarts? I can’t say I’m surprised that your boy doesn’t know, but you kept Harry’s heritage from him?” The small boy looked from one woman to the other, eyes still huge as saucers, and Dudley forced himself to open his own letter, hands shaking. He skimmed the acceptance letter and focused on the supply list, committing it to memory in case the letters were taken away.  
  
    “We swore,” Vernon said, voice rising dangerously with every word, “when we took him we’d put a stop to that rubbish, swore we’d stamp it out of him! And now he’s infected our son-!” He cut off abruptly, face purpling as he strugged to speak, and McGonagall tucked her wand away.  
  
    “I see,” she said, and looked again at Petunia. “I suppose you feel the same?” The other woman turned and shut the stove off.  
  
    “I did,” she whispered. “I did. But now...” She trailed off helplessly.  
  
    “Er, ma’am,” Dudley spoke up, drawing the attention away from his parents, “how are we to pay for all these things? And - and attending?” He knew, of course, but he wanted to keep everyone focused. He shoved his own bubbling emotions to the back, knowing that he could examine them later.  
  
    McGonagall looked at him in surprise, then smiled thinly. “Attendance is free to all, Mr. Dursley, and we give a small allowance to Muggleborns like yourself for supplies. You have an account at Gringotts - our bank - and I’ve the key with me.”  
  
    “What’s a Muggleborn?” Harry interrupted, and Dudley realized belatedly that he’d be expected to ask these questions too.  
  
    “A Muggle is a non-magical person,” the witch explained patiently. “A Muggleborn is a witch or wizard born to two non-magical people. Now, I have a great deal to explain to all of you, but first I need at least one parent to consent to you boys attending.” She looked at Vernon and raised her eyebrows, then, ignoring the rude gesture he made, looked to Petunia. After a long, tense moment, Dudley’s mother nodded sharply, as if it pained her to do so. McGonagall produced a piece of parchment and a fountain pen, and Petunia signed it without bothering to read what it said.  
  
    “Excellent,” McGonagall said dryly, and turned to the boys. “Shall we move to the sitting room? Good.” She waved her wand at Vernon as she led them out, and as the kitchen door closed behind him, they heard him begin to shout. McGonagall perched on the armchair while Harry and Dudley took up the sofa, then said, “I have a great deal to explain, then. I thought I might tell Mr. Potter in private, but I think it would benefit you both to hear what I have to say.”  
  
    She told them about Harry’s parents, explaining in greater detail once she realized just how much Harry didn’t know. She went over Harry’s fame, and how there were classes on penmanship and etiquette they could take so they wouldn’t feel lost in the Wizarding world. McGonagall was very patient, answering every question without hesitation, and a few minutes into the discussion, Petunia drifted in to sit on the other side of Dudley. She didn’t ask any questions of her own, but the Deputy Headmistress made a point of assurring her that Dudley would be well taken care of. Finally, she arranged a date to take the three of them into Diagon Alley for shopping, and after polite farewells, left. Petunia quietly ushered the boys upstairs, then went to the room she shared with Vernon and shut the door.


	3. Diagon Alley

**CHAPTER TWO **

  
  
    The morning of the Diagon Alley trip, two days after Harry’s birthday and half an hour after a particularly tense breakfast, Harry cornered Dudley with a glare that reminded him alarmingly of a much older version of his cousin. Hands on his hips, glasses slowly slipping down his nose, Harry said, “Did you  know about this?” Caught by surprise, Dudley stared at him blankly, and the small boy waved an arm. “This - this wizard stuff. And my parents.”  
  
    Dudley shook his head. “No. I mean, I kinda thought there was something different about you, but...” He shrugged helplessly. Anything further would be an outright lie - certainly he hadn’t expected any of this the first time around - and Harry in any incarnation, no matter his size, would see right through it.  
  
    Fortunately, this Harry didn’t press further, fierceness fading away as he looked thoughtfully towards the kitchen. They could still hear Petunia and Vernon talking in tight, quiet voices, and neither was inclined to eavesdrop. After a moment, he said, “I guess we should get ready.”  
  
     They’d barely finished showering and dressing when the doorbell rang, and Vernon retreated upstairs, his footsteps heavy with anger. He didn’t spare either boy a look before shutting himself in the master bedroom, and the boys were too busy shoving the supply lists in their pockets to notice. Finally, they thumped down the stairs and found themselves face to face with a faintly smiling McGonagall. Petunia emerged from the downstairs bathroom a moment later, patting her hair into place, pale but composed. “How shall we be traveling?” she asked, straining for politeness.  
  
    “I thought it best to take a private car,” McGonagall said. “Some teachers prefer the Knight Bus, but I find it a little too... hectic, for my taste.”  
  
    The car in question was a rickety old thing that looked as if it would fall apart at the slightest touch, and the man in the driver’s seat had such a strange, lumpy face that Dudley and Harry were hard-pressed to figure out whether he was human at all. The four of them climbed into the back seat, which was much roomier than they’d imagined. In fact, there was more on the outside than on the out, and Petunia’s eyes were large as she settled tentatively onto one of the plush red velvet seats. As soon as everyone was seated, the car slowly began to move. It wasn’t the smoothest ride, especially once they began to go a little faster than was strictly legal, but McGonagall served them fresh, hot tea out of a hidden compartment in teacups charmed not to spill, and, after a bit of searching, biscuits from a tin that had rolled under a seat. Harry and Dudley, fascinated, fought valiantly not to poke at things, and Petunia began to relax a little, soothed by the tea.  
  
    McGonagall sat back in satisfaction, sipping her own. “Now, our first stop will be Gringotts,” she explained. “We will open Dudley’s account, and the account Harry inherited from his parents will be officially handed over to him. After that, we’ll see to the school supplies, and you may pick up whatever little things you might like.” She looked knowingly at the boys, amusement in her eyes, and they grinned back. “This car will take you home after, though I am afraid I cannot accompany you back to Surrey. Once I am done showing you around Diagon Alley, I must be on my way.”  
  
    Dudley, accepting this, sat back and gazed out the window as Harry began to bombard McGonagall with questions. Their car seemed to contort itself - on the outside, at least, for he didn’t actually feel it moving - and slip through traffic as easily as a knife through butter. None of the Muggles noticed, and Dudley wondered how many enchantments, exactly, were on their vehicle.  
  
    An idea occured to him, then, and he closed his eyes, calming himself. Padma had roped him into meditating with her ages ago, and had explained that some magical persons liked to use it to get in touch with their magic. He had always wondered what it would be like to find a little core of power inside yourself, and now, as he slipped into the familiar darkness, he was astonished to find that instead of the gaping emptiness he was used to, there was a tiny spark of something else. It was fragile, but bright, and he touched it gently with his mind, a faint warmth filling him as he did. Struggling to tamp down relief at his letter not being a fluke and a strange sense of loss, Dudley carefully focused his mind elsewhere. He stretched his senses gingerly out into the car, testing to see how far they could go, and the back of his eyelids lit up like a Christmas tree. He had no idea which spells did what, or even how many there actually were, but he could see them, and it was breathtaking. It soon made his eyes ache, however, so he drew back and settled himself before opening them and blinking in the sunlight. He was a little puzzled to find his face smooshed against the window.  
  
    “Dudley, wake up, dear,” his mother said, touching his arm, and he peeled his face from the glass, rubbing his eyes. “You slept the whole way. We’re here.” Her voice trembled a little, and Dudley offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile before they climbed out of the car. McGonagall and Harry waited on the curb, and behind them was the Leaky Cauldron. It looked a great deal different than he remembered, shabbier and older, with decades of dirt caked on, and he realized that he was seeing it before the war. With growing trepidation, he wondered if he would still recognize Diagon Alley, and if he would see the destruction in the future.  
  
    Not noticing his sudden frown, Petunia and Harry followed McGonagall to the pub. “-not the only entrance, of course, but for many families it’s the most convenient one,” she was saying as Dudley caught up to them. She pushed the door open and they all entered the noisy building. Dudley smiled - if everything else was different, then the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron weren’t. Hadn’t he had a pint or two with that wizard in the corner? Though they’d both been older, at the time.  
  
    The barman looked up as they entered and beamed. “Minerva! Collecting new students, are we?”  
  
    “Quite so, Tom,” McGonagall said, smiling, but before she could say more, there was a cry of “Harry Potter!”, and the room went still as a grave. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, she laid a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Yes, this is Harry Potter, but I’ll thank all of you to control yourselves.” She cast a severe look around the room as excited whispers started up. Despite her words, there was a great scraping of chairs, and Harry soon found himself shaking hands with everyone, even Tom.  
  
    “Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back,” the old man said, all broad smiles, before he was replaced by another.  
  
    “Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last.”  
  
    “So proud, Mr. Potter, I’m just so proud.”  
  
    “Always wanted to shake your hand - I’m all of a flutter.”  
  
    “Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can’t tell you, Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle.”  
  
    “I’ve seen you before!” Harry said, surprised, as Diggle’s tophat fell off in his excitement. “You bowed to me once in a shop.” Dudley looked closer at the strange man, and a memory stirred. He hadn’t, at the time, paid much attention to the man, but he supposed Diggle could be the fellow from the shop. This memory, like several others, was alarmingly clear for being so old, while more recent memories like the incident at Platform 9 3/4 were strangely faded, and lately he was wondering if his mind hadn’t got scrambled when he time traveled.  
  
    “That’s all very well,” McGonagall said at last, sternly cutting into Diggle’s rapturous cries that Harry remembered him, “but we must be moving on. Mr. Potter and his cousin need their school supplies.”  
  
    There was another quick round of handshakes for Harry, who was beginning to look a bit dazed, before McGonagall steered them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.  
  
    “Will it always be like that?” Harry asked faintly.  
  
    McGonagall looked down at him, and her face softened. “I’m afraid so, Mr. Potter.” She lifted her wand and pointed at the wall above the trash can. “Boys, please pay attention. You shall have to tap this brick three times with your wand in order to enter. While we are out today, I will show you to another entrance that Mrs. Dursley can access without need of one.” She tapped the brick in question three times, then put her wand away.  
  
    The brick quivered, and a small hole appeared in the very middle of it. The space grew wider and wider, forcing bricks apart in a ripple, and within moments there was a large archway that led to a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight. Harry let out an awed gasp, eyes huge, and even Petunia looked grudgingly impressed. Dudley, who had seen it before, grinned broadly and stepped through. “Welcome to Diagon Alley,” McGonagall said, smiling, then led them down the road. Harry turned his head to watch as the archway disappeared behind them, leaving a solid wall in its place.  
  
    The boys gazed around them in wonder, and Petunia, too, looked with interest at the strange and wonderful shops. Everything was bursting with life, warm and colorful and untouched by war. Dudley hadn’t realized just how somber Diagon Alley was, even nineteen years after Voldemort’s downfall. As they passed the apothecary, they overheard a plump witch shaking her head over the price of dragon liver. “-sixteen Sickles an ounce, they’re mad...”  
  
    Wondering absently what dragon liver cost in 2017, Dudley ambled along, noting differences in the Alley with some consternation and gazing in surprise at the empty shop where Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes should have stood. He knew, of course, that the Weasley twins hadn’t set up shop til 1996, but it was still strange not to see George puttering around inside and charming the customers, even if he’d never been particularly close to the man.  
  
    Eventually, they reached Gringotts, and once inside, Petunia was given the key to Dudley’s account and the two of them were sent off to one of the goblins to open it. The goblin attending them, Gornuk, patiently guided them through the necessary paperwork, of whic there was surprisingly little. He warned them that the allowance was sent to the account only once a year, and the amount would not change. In the end, they were to receive an allowance of eleven Galleons a year, an amount that Gornuk assured them was more than enough. He also said that it would be no problem to exchange Muggle money for Wizarding money, and Petunia took the opportunity to do so. The goblin fiddled with something behind his desk for a moment, then wrote up a receipt and told them the money was now in Dudley’s account, and would they like to make a withdrawal?  
  
    A long, mildly terrifying cart ride later, they collected the Sickles Petunia had put in and taken all but two of the Galleons, just to be safe, before returning to the lobby. McGonagall and Harry were waiting for them, and Dudley fished the supply list from his pocket as the group exited the bank. He read it aloud as Petunia put the little bag of coins in her purse and Harry attempted to stuff his own in his pocket.  
  
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  
  
    UNIFORM  
    First-year students will require:  
                1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
                2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
                3. One pair of protective gloves (dragonhide or similar)  
                4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)  
    Please note that all pupil’s clothes should carry name tags  
  
    COURSE BOOKS  
    All students should have a copy of each of the following:  
                The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk  
                A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot  
                Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling  
                A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch  
                One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore  
                Magical Draughts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger  
                Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander  
                The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble  
  
    OTHER EQUIPMENT  
                1 wand  
                1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
                1 set glass or crystal phials  
                1 telescope  
                1 set brass scales  
    Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad  
  
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS  
  
    Petunia frowned down at her purse. “Can we afford all that?” she wondered under her breath, and McGonagall reached out to gently pat her shoulder.  
  
    “It seems like a great deal,” she said, “but it isn’t very costly, in the end. Shall we fit the boys for robes, first?”  
  
    When they reached Madam Malkin’s, they found that there was another customer inside. In the back of the shop, a girl with lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth was standing on a footstool while a witch pinned up her robes. Two Muggles, the girl’s parents, stood awkwardly in a corner, the man with his nose buried in a magazine. Madam Malkin, a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve, bustled over to the group. “Minerva, good to see you!” she said warmly, pressing the Professor’s hand. “Two, then?” She eyed Dudley and Harry, as if already measuring them.  
  
    “Yes, thank you,” McGonagall said. “Just the usual school clothing, if you please.” She looked to Petunia, who nodded before wandering off to have a look at some of the displays. Dudley and Harry were made to stand on two footstools near the bushy-haired girl, who looked at them with interest.  
  
    “Hello,” she said, a little shyly. “Hogwarts too?”  
  
    Dudley, who was trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar, only nodded, but Harry smiled and said, “Yeah, we’re first years. Are you Muggleborn too?”  
  
    At this, the girl brightened. “Yes, and I’m ever so excited! We thought it was a joke at first, you know, because the letter came before the wizard who explained things. Have you got your books yet?”  
  
    Harry seemed a little taken aback by the onslaught, so Dudley came to his rescue. “Er, no, we just got here. We thought it wasn’t real too, but Professor McGonagall brought our letters to us.”  
  
    “Oh!” The girl smiled. “We just got here too. My name’s Hermione Granger.” She extended her hand so quickly she nearly knocked Harry off his stool, and Madam Malkin tsked at her. Harry gingerly shook her hand, and Dudley leaned past him to do the same, trying not to stare. The Hermione he knew was vastly different from this excited litle thing, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.  
  
    “I’m Harry Potter, and this is my cousin, Dudley Dursley,” the small boy said as Dudley settled back on his stool. Harry was obviously braced for another outcry, but none came. Instead, Hermione looked thoughtful.  
  
    “Do you know,” she said at length, “I think I’ve heard your name around.”  
  
    “He’s famous,” Malkin’s assistant said around the pins in her mouth, twitching the fabric of Hermione’s robes into place. “Defeated You-Know-Who as a baby, he did.”  
  
    Hermione’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hair. “How is _that_ possible?” she demanded. “A baby is just a baby.”  
  
    Dudley and Harry exchanged a glance as the story was relayed to Hermione, who expressed skepticism at each new development. They hurriedly looked away, fighting grins.  
  
    Eventually, the fittings were through, and the three children were dismissed after giving their addresses so that the robes could be sent to them. Petunia paid for Dudley’s while Harry paid for his own, and they were both pleasantly surprised at how little the robes cost. The Grangers, relieved not to be the only Muggles in the Alley, gladly accepted Petunia’s invitation to shop with them, and they all made their way to Flourish and Blotts. Along the way, Hermione asked McGonagall what Quidditch was, and the witch was happy to explain. While Harry was immediately fascinated, Hermione was not so sure of the sport.  
  
    “It doesn’t make sense to me,” she kept saying. “Why is the Snitch worth so many points?” She could not be convinced that it wasn’t utterly silly.  
  
    And then there were books. Dudley and Hermione picked up a few extras, eagerly exploring the shelves and making lists of future purchases, and Harry, feeling more than a little overwhelmed, decided he’d just read whatever they picked up. The books were put into special weightless shopping bags that were only a Knut extra before the group moved on, stopping briefly so that McGonagall could show them where the other, more Muggle-friendly entrance to the Alley was. Finally, a few cauldrons, phials, and longing glances at brooms later, they descended on Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, settling gratefully into spindly-legged chairs. When they all had an ice cream or cold drink in hand, McGonagall announced that all they had left was wands and, maybe, pets.  
  
    “After that, I shall have to leave you,” she said regretfully. Dudley suspected that she rarely escorted new students, and had enjoyed herself almost as much as they had. “Mrs. Dursley, the car will be waiting outside the Leaky Cauldron when you exit. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I assume you have a similar vehicle that will be waiting?” Two nods. “Wonderful. Don’t worry about getting one confused for the other, you’ll need to tell the driver your destination in any case.”  
  
    Harry, who was doing his level best to put a dent in the massive ice cream he’d bought (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts), watched in some confusion as Hermione wrestled one of her new books free from a shopping bag. Careful not to let her blueberry sherbet drip on anything, she thumbed through the pages, fascinated. “Did you know,” she said aloud to the boys, “we’ll be sorted into different Houses?”  
  
    “How many are there?” Harry asked, mildly alarmed by this revelation.  
  
    Her little brown nose scrunched as she carefully maneuvered a spoonful of sherbet from cup to mouth, and after swallowing she said, “Four.” The spoon dipped into the sherbet again before she continued. “Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff.” She stumbled over the words and looked at McGonagall, who gave her a small, encouraging nod. “The book doesn’t say how it’s done, though. Professor, would you tell us?”  
  
    “Oh, it’s simple enough,” the Professor said. “We place the Sorting Hat on your head, and it looks into your mind and decides which House would be best for you. Each House has a variety of people, of course, but each can be summed up with one word. For Gryffindor, that would be bravery; for Slytherin, cunning; for Ravenclaw, cleverness; and for Hufflepuff, loyalty. There is a good deal more to it, naturally.”  
  
    Only Dudley seemed to notice the way her voice darkened when she spoke about Slytherin, but Hermione was already asking the important questions. “Which is the best House to go to?” she asked, frowning.  
  
    McGonagall looked amused. “There is no ‘best House’. All are equal.” Which wasn’t quite true, Dudley knew, because he’d heard the stories. “And all Houses,” she added, looking at Harry knowingly, “have a Quidditch team. Though I should like to remind you, Mr. Potter, that you cannot try out until next year.”  
  
    Harry drooped, then perked up. “Will there be flying lessons?” At the answering yes, he fairly glowed with delight, and returned to his ice cream with renewed gusto.  
  
    Once their treats were finished, the group roused itself and made for Ollivander’s. The shop was narrow and shabby, but like the rest of the Alley, in better repair than Dudley had last seen it. The peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. In the window, a single wand lay on a faded purple cushion. McGonagall pushed the door open, but there was really only room for the children, Petunia, and Mrs. Granger, so she elected to wait outside with Mr. Granger.  
  
    The tinkling of the bell was immediately swallowed by the dusty silence of the shop as the five stepped inside. There was a tiny, rickety chair tucked in a corner, but there wasn’t much else until you got past the counter. Behind it, there were rows upon rows of floor to ceiling shelves, all stuffed with narrow boxes and covered in a liberal coating of dust.  
  
    “Good afternoon,” said a soft voice, making all of them jump in surprise, for an old man had just appeared in front of them as if from thin air. His pale eyes shone like moons in the dim light, and didn’t seem inclined to blink.  
  
    “Hello,” said Hermione, recovering first. “Are you Mr. Ollivander?”  
  
    “Yes,” the old man said pleasantly. “Muggleborn, I see, and two of you! Always good to have fresh faces.” He peered at Harry, smiling faintly. “And, yes, I thought I’d be seen you soon, Harry Potter. You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was here herself, buying her first wand.” His eyes darted to Petunia, then back to Harry. “Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”  
  
    As he spoke, he moved closer to Harry, who looked torn between curiosity and discomfort. “Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say he favored it - it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, you see. And that’s where...” A bony finger gently pressed the skin beneath Harry’s scar, and the boy went rigid, clearly shoving down the urge to run. “I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... Well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do...”  
  
    He shook his head and, to Harry’s immense relief, turned to Hermione. “Well, let me see. Miss Granger-” Hermione started, clearly wondering how he knew her name. “-which is your wand arm?”  
  
    “I, er, I’m right-handed,” she said, blinking.  
  
    “Hold out your right arm, then, that’s it.” Ollivander measured her from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round her head, the tape measure floating around on its own. As he directed it’s movement, he said, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, your will never get such good results with another wand.”  
  
    He stepped back and added, “That will do for Miss Granger.” He drifted away to poke through the shelves, muttering to himself, as the tape measure moved on to Harry.  
  
    A wand was shortly placed in Hermione’s hand, and at Ollivander’s urging, she gave it a tentative flick. A few boxes tumbled from one of the shelves, and the wand was immediately replaced. Only two wands later, however, she waved the one in her hand and bright ribbons of color shot out, twining around her like a shawl. Ollivander clapped his hands in delight, saying, “Vine wood and dragon heartstring, ten and three quarters. Excellent!” He placed the wand back in its box, wrapped it in brown paper, and handed it to Hermione, who looked very pleased with herself. Mrs. Granger paid the seven galleons, and the two of them stepped back so Harry could have his turn. Ollivander was already pushing a wand into the boy’s hand.  
  
    As for Dudley, he had just finished being measured, the tape collapsing in a tidy coil on the floor. He watched Harry grow more and more frustrated as the pile of discarded wands grew with each increasingly upset hand wave, and thought about saying something when a thoughtful look came to Ollivander’s wizened face. “I wonder, now - yes, why not - unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”  
  
    Harry gingerly took the wand, as if afraid it might bite him, but almost immediately his expression turned to one of hesitant delight. He raised the wand above his head and brought it swishing down through the dusty air, and a stream of red and gold sparks poured from the wand, hanging in the air like fireworks before disappearing. Hermione cheered, and Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious.”  
  
    He put the wand back in its box and wrapped it as he had Hermione’s, still muttering, “Curious... curious...”  
  
    “Sorry,” said Harry a little breathlessly, “but what’s curious?”  
  
    Those pale eyes fixed on him once more, making him fidget uncomfortably. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, its brother gave you that scar.”  
  
    A chill went down Dudley’s back, and everything seemed a little void of color. No one else seemed to feel it - Harry looked troubled, but more confused than anything, probably because Ollivander was still talking, and Hermione only looked thoughtful. Petunia and Mrs. Granger shared a look that said they both thought Ollivanger was being a little melodramatic.  
  
    And just like that, it was Dudley’s turn to get a wand.  
  
    Hermione and Harry watched anxiously as Dudley went through piles of wands, nearly as many as Harry had, and as the number of wands increased, he began to feel uneasy himself. He wasn’t Harry, destined for greatness. He was a former Muggle who was only here by accident, and by some fluke had got magic in the process. Despite confirming it for himself earlier, he began to doubt even that, after a while. A glance at the others made it clear that Petunia was worried, too - she was gripping her handbag so tight that her hands were white as bone. Ollivander, on the other hand, was having the time of his life.  
  
    “I do so love a challenge,” he said and, clucking his tongue, plucked another wand from Dudley’s grasp. He disappeared amongst the shelves for a moment, rattling boxes as he went, then brought back an incredibly dusty armful of them to plonk down on the poor chair. He picked through the selection, dismissing some and considering others, until at last he picked up a particularly old and tatty box. “Now, this is an unusual wand - twelve inches, alder, with a core of, well, coral. Used to be a very popular core some years ago and, hmm, alder is a funny wood - but I think...” He pulled out the wand and handed it over to Dudley, who gripped it with some trepidation.  
  
    It was surprisingly heavy, with a rough, stony texture, and as he held it, his fingers grew warm and tingly. He lifted the wand and gave it a firm flick, and one of the windows turned a brilliant shade of violet. Ollivander beamed in satisfaction as Hermione and Harry let out cries of delight. Dudley, feeling somehow right, reluctantly handed the wand over to be boxed, then held the package close once Ollivander had wrapped it. Petunia counted out the Galleons, then wrapped Dudley in a tight hug, eyes wet with tears. He wasn’t sure if she was proud or upset.  
  
    Upon exiting the shop, they discovered that getting their wands had taken longer than they’d thought, for McGonagall, immediately after congratulating the children, regretfully said her goodbyes. After she left in a swirl of cape, the group headed for Eeylops Owl Emporium. Hermione, who didn’t particularly want a pet, helped Dudley pick out his owl. Harry had made a beeline for a familiar snowy one, and was already asking the shop attendant what he should buy to take care of her. Dudley, on the other hand, was having a little more trouble. He knew they couldn’t afford any of the more expensive birds, but he wanted to make a good choice. He was staring thoughtfully at a screech owl, which eyed him with clear distaste, when Hermione called his name.  
  
    “Over here!” she said excitedly. “I think you might like this one.”  
  
    This one was a barn owl that was seated on a perch beside its cage. It was smaller than the others, and while it completely ignored the nearby owls and Hermione, it fixed Dudley with the most unsettling stare he’d ever seen. Without thinking, he slowly reached out a hand, and it stepped gently up without a lick of hesitation. They considered each other a moment before the owl walked boldly up his arm and settled comfortably on his shoulder. Hermione beamed, and Dudley couldn’t help but grin back. “I think you’re right,” he said with a chuckle, and was relieved to discover that they could more than afford the bird. He picked up the cage and went to show Petunia, who wasn’t terribly interested, but gave him enough money to buy the owl, cage, and some treats.  
  
    After, they returned to the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione excitedly opening the wall for them with her new wand, and soon found themselves on the curb out front, packing their shopping into two cars. Petunia and the Grangers exchanged phone numbers, and arranged to meet at King’s Cross the morning of September 1st. Hermione hugged Harry and Dudley, to their mutual surprise, and after cheery goodbyes, they parted ways. On the trip back to Privet Drive, Harry fell asleep, worn out from all the excitement. Dudley, tired as he was, found himself unable to do the same, and sat quietly with Petunia the whole way.  
  
    As they pulled up to the house, she grew ever more tense, and once they’d quit the car with their arms full of shopping bags and owl cages, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Harry, yawning and contorting in order to rub sleep from his eyes, didn’t notice, but Dudley did, and he soon saw why - the house was dark, and the car was gone. A sinking feeling in his stomach, Dudley followed Petunia to the front door and pretended not to see when her hands shook as she unlocked the house. The inside seemed unchanged, but Dudley poked his head into the kitchen and saw a note on the table, and knew without seeing that most of Vernon’s things were gone.  
  
    “Dudley,” Petunia said in a voice fragile as glass, “I’m afraid I’m too tired to cook tonight, pumpkin. Why don’t you order some pizza?” And she pressed a few bills into his hand before taking the note and drifting upstairs. Her bedroom door closed a few minutes later with a quiet click.  
  
    Harry was the first to break the silence. “What’s happened?” he asked slowly, as if he suspected but wasn’t entirely sure.  
  
    Dudley rolled his shoulders. “Vernon’s left. I reckon they’re going to split,” he said after a moment. “Here, let’s get dinner and go through everything as we eat. What d’you want on your pizza?”


	4. The Journey to Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick warning before we go on: there is a description of a panic attack in this chapter. It's fairly brief, mostly because someone steps in with a calming draught in hand, and partly because writing it was very uncomfortable for me. It's also going to keep happening in future chapters, so kind of bear that in mind.
> 
> Hannah Abbott in this chapter sort of happened by accident - she wasn't in the outline at all.

**CHAPTER THREE**

  
  
  
    August passed quickly, full of letters from Hermione and overnight stays with Mrs. Figg. Petunia never said as much, but Dudley and Harry were pretty sure she was house-hunting, if the shouting matches she had with Vernon over the phone were any indication. But now it was the first of September, and as they passed through King’s Cross alongside the Grangers, with whom they’d had breakfast, the anxiety that Dudley had been fighting all day reared its ugly head.  
  
    Harry, at least, seemed to be enjoying himself. They’d gone out the day before, and Petunia had bought him Muggle clothing that actually fit. It was from the thrift store, but it was a vast improvement, and after, she’d taken him to get his eyes examined and purchased new glasses. They were round, just like the old ones, but they stayed on better and as they returned home, he’d gawked at everything, amazed by all the detail he’d been missing. He was doing it again as they made their way through the station, and only keeping hold of the trolley with his owl and trunk was keeping him from falling over himself. Even as the thought crossed Dudley’s mind, Harry tripped over his shoelaces again, and Hermione sighed in exasperation.  
  
    “ _Honestly_ ,” she said, then, “Dudley, what is the incantation and usage of the Mending Charm?”  
  
    He stared blankly at her a moment before realizing she was quizzing him. “Er, reparo. It fixes most everything, but isn’t meant to be used on people or animals. It also doesn’t work on things like wands.” He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, then said, “What are the, er, key ingredients in a forgetfulness potion?”  
  
    “Two drops of Lethe River water,” said Hermione, tapping her fingers on the handle of the trolley as she counted, “valerian sprigs, and mistletoe berries. Harry, what’s a bezoar?”  
  
    Harry uttered an alarmed squeak at being pulled into the game, and stammered out a quick reply before shooting a question at Dudley. Hermione had insisted on the three of them quizzing each other on their schoolbooks for the remainder of the summer, and Dudley was grateful for the distraction. He forced himself to think of nothing but the things he’d read, and almost didn’t manage to see the strange looks they got from the Muggles they passed. When they reached platforms nine and ten, the group stood a moment, staring dubiously at the brick wall between, before Hermione got fed up waiting and barreled through. The rest followed her example, and Dudley closed his eyes out of habit.  
  
    Platform 9 3/4 looked much the same as it had the last time he’d seen it. It felt like ages had passed since then, and yet at the same time, as if it had all happened only yesterday. If Dudley squinted a little, he could almost make out familiar faces in the steam. He swallowed thickly, vision beginning to swim, then heard a laugh that nearly stopped his heart. It sounded exactly like Ariana, and he almost shouted for her before remembering that there was no Ariana here. That thought, which he’d been carefully avoiding since this whole thing began, and the sound of something large being dropped, stopped him cold, and suddenly he was watching as the platform around him was destroyed. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to move despite the screaming panic welling up in his chest, and he abruptly realized he couldn’t breathe, as if his chest were being crushed by something heavy. He dimly heard concerned voices and felt someone grabbing at him, but he forced  his eyes shut and ignored them, uttering a strangled noise.  
  
    A wave of calm washed over him, then, and his breathing slowly returned to normal. Dudley felt the tension leave him, and hesitantly blinked his eyes open. A redheaded man was crouched in front of him, kind face drawn in concern, but as he saw Dudley’s eyes open he smiled gently. “There you are, lad,” he said, and offered a hand. “Think you can stand, or do you need a moment?”  
  
    Disconcerted to find himself on the ground, Dudley lifted an arm that felt like it was made of lead and grasped the wizard’s hand. The man patiently helped him to his shaky feet, and waited until he had his balance before putting away his wand and an empty glass phial. Discovering that his face was wet with tears, Dudley quickly scrubbed it with his sleeve, and looked up at the anxious faces of his family, the Grangers, and a large, redheaded family. “How did you do that?” he asked the wizard, and was alarmed at how wobbly his voice was.  
  
    “I spelled a Calming Draught into you,” the man said, a little apologetic. “I tried to get you to drink it first, of course.”  
  
    “Thank you, Mr...?” Petunia’s strained voice trailed off uncertainly, and the wizard beamed at her.  
  
    “Weasley, Arthur Weasley. It was my pleasure! Lucky I had it on me,” he said, offering his hand. Petunia shook it, smiling faintly.  
  
    “Petunia Dursley,” she said, stumbling a little over her surname, then turned to Dudley, hesitantly touching his shoulder. “How are you feeling, pumpkin?” She reached up to smooth his hair, as much to comfort herself as him.  
  
    Dudley considered the question. He could still feel the echoes of anxiety, but the Calming Draught was doing its job well. “I feel fine,” he said sheepishly, looking away. “I didn’t mean to freak out like that. I-” He cast about for a suitable explanation, then muttered, “I’m just really nervous. I’m sorry.”  
  
    His mother breathed a sigh of relief, then drew him into a loose hug. “I’m just glad you’re all right,” she said, and kissed his forehead. “Are you sure you want to go to - to school right now? I’m sure we can put it off a little...”  
  
    Pulling away and taking a deep breath, Dudley looked up at her and smiled. “No, I’m okay. I’ll nap on the train.”  
  
    Satisfied that the danger was over, they all made their way to the train to find compartments, and the Weasleys introduced themselves. It was strange to see Ron and Ginny as children, and everyone was so much more carefree than they had been the last time Dudley saw them. Ron was particularly taken with Harry, but didn’t seem to know how to act around Hermione and Dudley, which was just was well, because neither of them were quite sure what to do with him either. The four of them found an empty compartment together, though, and with the help of Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Granger, got their trunks and owls safely loaded onto the train. Then there were goodbye hugs, and Petunia called Dudley “Diddykins”, which sent Ron into such a fit of laughter he almost choked. Not a moment later, Dudley had his revenge when Mrs. Weasley tried to spit-wash a speck of dirt on Ron’s nose. Finally, though, all the children were aboard the train, and they waved until their families were out of sight. It was a strange feeling, to be the one on the train, but Dudley felt his muffled anxiety ebb away the further they got from the station, so he decided he didn’t mind.  
  
    “So,” Ron said to Harry as they settled down, sounding as if he’d been aching to ask, “have you really got the, y’know, scar?”  
  
    Harry blushed, but obligingly lifted his messy fringe so Ron could see. “It’s not terribly interesting,” he said sheepishly, but Ron was very impressed.  
  
    “So that’s where You-Know-Who...?”  
  
    “Yes,” said Harry, letting his hair fall back into place, “but I can’t remember it.”  
  
    “Nothing?” the redhead asked eagerly. Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry’s reply made her frown.  
  
    “Well - I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else.”  
  
    “Wow,” said Ron. He sat and stared at Harry a few moments, then quickly busied himself with petting the rat in his lap.  
  
    Dudley cleared his throat. “So, are all your family wizards?” he asked, and Ron looked at him in surprise.  
  
    “Er - yes, I think so,” he said. “I think Mum’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant, but we never talk about him.”  
  
    “You must know loads of magic already, then,” put in Hermione, who sounded both envious and excited.  
  
    Ron went a bit red around the ears and muttered something unintelligible, then said desperately to Harry, “I heard you went to live with Muggles. What are they like?”  
  
    Dudley couldn’t help sinking down into the seat a little, the usual guilt tromping back in to set up camp in his heart, and Hermione glanced nervously from him to Harry. She knew the full story by now - or at least, the full story minus the time travel - and was clearly worried that this question would cause a rift between her two friends.  
  
    “Well,” said Harry thoughtfully, “it wasn’t so great at first. But this summer, before we got our letters, everything changed. Muggles aren’t that bad, honestly. I think they probably aren’t much different from wizards aside from the magic thing.” He glanced at Dudley and smiled briefly, and the tension broke. Hermione beamed, and Ron just looked a little puzzled, as though that hadn’t quite been the answer he’d been looking for. After a moment, Harry added, “I do wish I could’ve had three wizard brothers though. And a witch sister.”  
  
    “Five brothers,” said Ron gloomily. “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left - Bill was head  boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first.”  
  
    Hermione snorted. “How do you think your sister feels?” At Ron’s blank look, she said, “Oh, come on! She’ll have to put up with everything you just said, and she’s the only girl. That’s a lot of pressure on its own!”  
  
    “She’s a girl, though,” Ron protested. “She doesn’t have to wear our hand-me-downs, and mum and dad baby her all the time.”  
  
    Hermione opened her mouth to retort angrily, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Harry, who was closest, slid it open to reveal a pudgy, miserable looking boy. “Er, sorry,” he said nervously, “but have you seen a toad?”  
  
    The question took them all by surprise, but after a moment, they all shook their heads, and the boy wailed, “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”  
  
    “He’ll turn up,” Harry said, at a loss.  
  
    Taking pity on him, Dudley stood up. “Here, I’ll help you look,” he said amiably. “What’s your name?”  
  
    The boy gaped at him, then said, “N-Neville Longbottom. Er, thank you.” He backed out, and Dudley followed, turning at the last minute to grin at his friends.  
  
    “Don’t let Hermione eat Ron alive,” he stage-whispered to Harry, who laughed in spite of himself. Hermione shrieked and dug in her pockets for something to throw at him.  
  
    “Dudley Dursley, I would never!” she cried, half laughing, and chucked an empty chewing gum wrapper at him before he could get the door closed. Even Ron was laughing by the time Dudley and Neville left the compartment behind.  
  
    “Dursley? Muggleborn, then?” Neville asked tentatively.  
  
    “That’s right,” Dudley said. “I’m guessing you’re not?”  
  
    Neville nodded. “Pureblood,” he said ruefully. “Th-though you wouldn’t think it. I’m not very magical at all.”  
  
    Dudley hmmed and scanned the hall for signs that a toad had been through. “Well, no worries. Ron is a Weasley, and he doesn’t seem to know much of anything either. And I think despite Hermione making us study all summer, Harry and I probably don’t know half as much as either of you.”  
  
    This seemed to make Neville relax a little, and they chatted quietly as they moved to the next car. None of the compartments they checked held any toads, but they did get to meet some of their fellow first years, and a girl named Hannah Abbott joined them on their search. She was a half-blood, but she’d been raised by her witch mother, so she asked Dudley questions about Muggle life as they went.  
  
    He was trying to explain telephones and wasn’t paying much attention to where he was walking until he bumped heavily into someone, who snapped, “Watch where you’re going!” Dudley looked over in surprise and found himself staring at a tiny Draco Malfoy, who was being helped up by two boys even larger than Dudley.  
  
    “You must be Draco Malfoy,” he said without thinking, a surprised smile coming to his face. Neville and Hannah stared at him, and so did Draco, for a moment, before he composed himself.  
  
    “Finally,” he sneered, drawing himself up to his full height, which wasn’t much, “a Mudblood who knows his place. I’m looking for Harry Potter - I heard he’s on the train. You will tell me where he is.”  
  
    The words didn’t register for a moment, but when they did, Dudley was shocked to the core. Was this really the same Draco Malfoy who’d defended his articles to the purebloods? But, no, of course not - this was Draco Malfoy as a child, and by all account, Draco had been as bad as Dudley for most of his youth. Dudley stood up straight and did his best to loom. “Harry, my cousin, is back that way,” he said, in his best unimpressed dad voice, “two cars down, third compartment on the right, and I’ll thank you not to use that word in my presence.”  
  
    Five pairs of eyes goggled at him as if they couldn’t believe he was real, and after a long moment, Malfoy cracked. “Can you believe this?” he said to the hallway at large, laughing. “What in Merlin’s name was that? Crabbe, make him move.”  
  
    Dudley was shoved out of the way, and Malfoy strode past, still laughing. “You think he’s under some kind of curse?” the blond asked his minions. “Surely no one’s voice does that on its own!” Dudley watched the three strut purposefully down the hall, then sagged in defeat.  
  
    “That was amazing,” Neville breathed.  
  
    “What _was_ that voice, though?” Hannah asked, wrinkling her nose.  
  
    “Er, I dunno,” said Dudley sheepishly, pushing off the wall. “I just sort of went with it. What did it sound like?”  
  
    “Kind of like you had a head cold,” Neville admitted. “And like you had a trumpet stuck up your nose. I think.”  
  
    “Well, it was pretty impressive, if a bit silly,” said Hannah, smiling, then linked arms with the both of them and led the way down the hall.  
  
    Eventually, Neville’s toad turned up in the hands of a Hufflepuff prefect who’d been trying to find the owner, and Dudley and Hannah followed Neville to his compartment to make sure he got there without losing Trevor again. Once the toad was safely put away, the trio wandered back to Dudley’s compartment. By the time they arrived, Malfoy and his goons were long gone, and the others were happy to see them. Everyone budged up to make room, and when the lady with the trolley stopped by, they all pitched in for a large pile of sweets to share amongst themselves.  
  
    Finally, Harry asked Ron something that he’d been wondering about for a while. “What do your older brothers do now they’ve left Hogwarts, anyway?”  
  
    “Well,” said Ron around a mouthful of pumpkin pasty, “Charlie’s in ‘omania studying dragons, ‘nd Bill’s in Africa doing somethin’ for Gringotts.” He swallowed with some effort, and continued. “Speaking of, did you hear about Gringotts? It’s been all over the Daily Prophet, though I don’t suppose you get that with Muggles. Someone tried to rob a high security vault back on the 31st of July!”  
  
    “I heard about that,” said Neville. “My gran was talking to my uncle about it.”  
  
    “What happened to them?” Harry asked, staring from one to the other.  
  
    “Nothing, that’s why it’s such big news,” Ron said in the most suspenseful voice he could manage, clearly pleased to have an audience. “They haven’t been caught. My dad says it must’ve been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don’t think they took anything, that’s what’s odd. ‘Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who’s behind it.”  
  
    Harry mulled this over, and Hermione scoffed. “How could he be behind anything?” she asked disdainfully. “He’s dead. And anyway, we were there only two days later, and no one seemed very worried.”  
  
    Realizing that there was an argument in the near future, Harry said hastily, “Ron, can you tell me more about Quidditch?”  
  
    “Yeah, Ron,” said Hannah, catching on. “Who’s your favorite team?”  
  
    The redhead brightened and immediately launched into an explanation of tactics and teams. Hermione, rolling her eyes, got to her feet. “I’m going to ask the conductor how long we’ve got,” she told Dudley and Neville, who were the only ones not listening to Ron, and left the compartment.  
  
    Not ten minute later, she returned, throwing the door open and exclaiming,  breathless with excitement, “We’re nearly there! We need to get our robes on!”  
  
    As she ran to her trunk and began to dig through it, Hannah giggled and got up. “Neville and I will be right back, then,” she said brightly, pulling the startled boy to his feet. “C’mon, Nev, your compartment isn’t far from mine!”  
  
    Harry and Dudley followed Hermione’s example, pulling the robes on over their clothes, and after some grumbling, Ron did the same. They settled back down, the Muggle-raised of them plucking curiously at their new clothing. As Ron tucked a dozing Scabbers into his pocket, the other boys took their owls out of their cages for a moment to feet them treats and soothe ruffled feathers. Harry had named his snowy owl Hedwig, but Dudley still wasn’t sure what his should be, and said as much now. “Maybe I should just call her This One, since that’s how you introduced us,” he joked to Hermione, who laughed.  
  
    “That would be funny,” she agreed, then grew thoughtful. “Maybe choose a name from one of your books? That’s what Harry did, after all.”  
  
    Owl perched on his shoulder, Dudley got up and dug through his trunk for a while, inspecting the books he’d bought, before finally settling on the thin volume of wizard fairytales he’d bought on a whim. He thumbed through it to his favorite story, The Fountain of Fair Fortune, and after a moment, said, “Altheda.” He turned his head to look at the owl, offering another treat as he did. “What do you think? D’you like that name?”  
  
    The bird fixed him with a stare that said very clearly that she didn’t care one way or another, and delicately took the treat from his fingers.  
  
  
    Hannah and Neville never did make it back, but that was just as well, because they found each other again after they got off the train. They were milling about, shivering in the cool night air and wondering what to do, when a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and a great booming voice called out, “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!”  
  
    They made their way through the sea of students and found themselves facing an enormous, heavily bearded man. He beamed at them, then got a closer look at Harry and nearly burst into tears. “Harry Potter!” he said, delighted. “Las’ time I saw you, you was only a baby!” He turned to call for the first years again, then resumed conversation, sticking out an enormous hand for Harry to shake. With some hesitation, Harry did so. “Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.” And he invited them all to come down to his hut for tea sometime.  
  
    Hagrid rounded up the remainder of the first years, then led them down a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Dudley thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Someone squeezed Dudley’s hand in excitement, taking him for someone else.  
  
    “Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.”  
  
    There was a loud “Oooooh!”  
  
    The path opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake, and perched atop a cliff on the other side, stark against the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. Dudley gaped at it, amazed. Even in 2017, Hogwarts had yet to be restored to its full glory, and here it was, undamaged and beautiful, instead of the sad, patchwork creature he’d seen before. He’d only been once or twice, and it was dark now, but even the atmosphere felt somehow different.  
  
    “No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Hannah and Neville opted to take a separate boat, and were joined by Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas.  
  
    “Everyone in?” shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. “Right then - FORWARD!”  
  
    The boats moved off at once, gliding across the calm, glassy lake with ease. Everyone was quiet, staring up at the castle overhead, but there was an excited whisper rippling across the boats. The castle loomed over them, windows twinkling merrily, as they drew nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.  
  
    “Heads down!” Hagrid yelled as the first boats reached it, and everyone bent their heads as the boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They drifted down a long, dark tunnel that seemed to take them right under the castle, making the trip in a tenser silence than they had before, until they reached an underground harbor and clambered gratefully out onto solid ground. Once everyone was together, Hagrid led them up a passage in the rock, lamp bobbing cheerily, until they emerged onto the smooth, damp grass right in front of the castle.  
  
    “Everyone here?” their guide called, then raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door. It swung open at once, revealing Minerva McGonagall in all her glory. The tall, dark-haired witch wore emerald green robes and looked just as severe as always.  
  
    “The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.  
  
    “Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”  
  
    She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was bigger than the house at Privet Drive, and the ceiling was too high to make out. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, and across from them, a magnificent marble staircase vanished upwards. The first years followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor, some of them daring to whisper amongst themselves. If he strained, Dudley could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from behind a heavy door to the right - he wasn’t surprised that the rest of the school had already arrived - but McGonagall showed them into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer than they usually would have done and trampling a few toes in the process, and stared about nervously.  
  
    “Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is very important because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.  
  
    “The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awared the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”  
  
    Her eyes lingered on Neville’s cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron’s smudged nose. Dudley watched with amusement as Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.  
  
    “I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly,” said Professor McGonagall, and exited the chamber.  
  
    “How do they sort us unto Houses?” someone whispered, and all at once, the room was full of frantic whispers.  
  
    “-a test, a quiz or something, must be-”  
  
    “-heard we have to fight a _dragon_ -”  
  
    “ _I_ heard it was a troll-”  
  
    Harry, Hermione, and Dudley all shared a grin as their friends grew pale at these whispers. “Don’t worry,” Harry assured them. “When we met Professor McGonagall before, she told us it’s just wearing a hat.” Ron looked unconvinced, but some color returned to his face.  
  
    Then something happened that made everyone jump about a foot in the air - several children screamed. About twenty ghosts glided smoothly through the back wall, conversing animatedly amongst themselves. Pearly-white and a little transparent, they floated casually across the room, not sparing a glance for the startled first years. They were arguing, a little heatedly. What looked like a fat little monk was saying, “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-”  
  
    “My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not really even a _ghost_ \- I say, what are you all doing here?”  
  
    The collection of spirits drew up short at this, and the speaker, a ghost wearing a ruff and tights, stared with mild curiosity at the first years who were gaping at him. Nobody was quite brave enough to answer his question.  
  
    “New students!” cried the Fat Friar, dimpling at them. “About to be Sorted, I suppose?” A few people nodded mutely. “Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old House, you know.”  
  
    “Move along now,” a sharp voice cut in. “The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin.”  
  
    Professor McGonagall had returned, and she waited for the ghosts to disappear one by one through the opposite wall before continuing. “Now, form a line,” she told the first years, “and follow me.” They all shuffled after her, and there were gasps of awe as they finally entered the Great Hall.  
  
    The cavernous room was lit by thousands upon thousands of thick candles of every color. They floated serenely in the air above the four long tables where the other students sat, and the tables themselves were laid with glittering gold dishes - surely they weren’t _actually_ gold? - atop colored tablecloths, each color representing a different House. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were seated, and this was where Professor McGonagall led the first years, turning them about so that they were facing the rest of the students when they stopped. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked a little like lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there amongst them, the ghosts shimmered gently; one of them waved. To Dudley’s surprise, Harry nervously gave his hand a quick squeeze. He looked at his cousin, then up at the ceiling, where the smaller boy was staring, and had to swallow a gasp. It was a velvety black, dotted with shimmering stars, and as he watched, an owl swooped over it. From his left, he heard Hermione whisper to someone else, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read it in Hogwarts: a History.” Dudley smothered a grin, because she’d picked on him and Harry both for not buying copies of it for themselves, and it was nice to hear her choosing a different victim for a change.  
  
    Still, it was hard to believe there was a ceiling at all, and that the Great Hall didn’t simply open to the heavens - though he imagined it would be a different story if it started raining. He looked down again in time to see McGonagall place a four-legged stool in front of them, and on top it, a pointed wizard’s hat. It was patched and ragged and extremely dirty, and everyone in the hall was now staring at it. The hat twitched, surprising the first years, before a rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth and the hat began to sing:  
  
_Oh you may not think I'm pretty,_  
_But don't judge on what you see,_  
_I'll eat myself if you can find_  
_A smarter hat than me._  
  
_You can keep your bowlers black,_  
_Your top hats sleek and tall,_  
_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_  
_And I can cap them all._  
  
_There's nothing hidden in your head_  
_The Sorting Hat can't see,_  
_So try me on and I will tell you_  
_Where you ought to be._  
  
_You might belong in Gryffindor,_  
_Where dwell the brave at heart,_  
_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_  
_Set Gryffindors apart;_  
  
_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_  
_Where they are just and loyal,_  
_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_  
_And unafraid of toil;_  
  
_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_  
_if you've a ready mind,_  
_Where those of wit and learning,_  
_Will always find their kind;_  
  
_Or perhaps in Slytherin_  
_You'll make your real friends,_  
_Those cunning folks use any means_  
_To achieve their ends._  
  
_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_  
_And don't get in a flap!_  
_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_  
_For I'm a Thinking Cap!_  
  
    The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished, the befuddled first years clapping hesitantly themselves. It bowed to each table, then became quite still again.  
  
    “You were right,” Dudley heard Ron whisper to Harry, voice heavy with relief. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.”  
  
    Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a long roll of parchment and addressed them. “When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”  
  
    Hannah stumbled out of line, trodding on the hem of her robes, then hurried to the stool, her blonde pigtails flying out behind her. She sat on the stool and nearly squished the hat in her eagerness to jam it on her head. It slipped down over her eyes, and after a moment’s pause -  
  
    “HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat.  
  
    The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah removed the hat and went to sit down. Dudley and the others cheered too, and she waved at them from the table.  
  
    “Bones, Susan!”  
  
    “HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.  
  
    “Boot, Terry!”  
  
    “RAVENCLAW!”  
  
    The second table from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.  
  
    “Brocklehurst, Mandy” went to Ravenclaw too, but “Brown, Lavender” became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Dudley and Harry could see the Weasley twins cat-calling. “Bulstrode, Millicent” became the first Slytherin, and to Dudley’s surprise, only received polite applause from her new House. Dudley wondered over it until, all too soon, his own name was called. He walked to the stool with legs that felt like some combination of jelly and lead, and as the hat slipped down over his eyes, he closed them and took a few deep breaths to calm himself.  
  
    “Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear, and it took all his willpower not to jump in surprise. “I’ve seen a few time travelers in my day, but never like you. And you were a Muggle before? Interesting.”  
  
    Heart in his throat, Dudley thought, _I don’t suppose you know a specialist?_  
  
    The hat chuckled. “Not as such, but you should speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. He may know something. And now - where to put you? Not particularly brave or clever, nor hard-working or cunning. But- yes, there’s loyalty, and stubbornness, so it has to be HUFFLEPUFF!”  
  
    This last was shouted to the hall, and as he removed the hat and opened his eyes, Dudley realized that Hannah was jumping up and down in her excitement. He grinned and stumbled down to the Hufflepuff table to collapse beside her. “Congratulations,” she said cheerily, and he murmured indistinctly before turning to watch the rest of the Sorting.  
  
    “Finch-Fletchley, Justin” became the next Hufflepuff, and then it was Hermione’s turn, and she put the hat on with a look of desperate determination. “GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted almost immediately, and Dudley and Hannah cheered as she nearly ran to her table, her face bright with pleasure.  
  
    Very shortly after, it was Neville’s turn. The hat took a long time to decide, hemming and hawwing for ages, before finally shouting, “HUFFLEPUFF!” Neville took off still wearing it, and had to jog back amidst scattered laughter to return the hat to Professor McGonagall. Upon reaching the table, he sank gratefully onto the bench beside Dudley.  
  
    “I thought it’d never decide, and I’d have to leave school,” he confessed, face still red with embarrassment.  
  
    “Now you’re stuck with us,” Dudley said, smiling at him.  
  
    “Malfoy, Draco” was sorted into Slytherin almost before the hat had even touched his head, and he went with a look of smug superiority on his pointed little face.  
  
    There weren’t many people left now. “Moon”... “Nott”... “Parkinson”... and then Dudley got a rude shock when “Patil, Padma” was called. He watched in utter amazement as a much-younger version of his wife - former wife? - was sorted into Ravenclaw. He forced himself to stop staring as she walked to her table, and watched quietly as her sister was sorted into Gryffindor. He’d known, of course, that Padma had gone to Hogwarts, and had been in the same year as Harry, even, but somehow he’d never realized that she would be his schoolmate. Dudley was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice the hall had gone silent til Hannah elbowed him to pay attention, and he looked up to see Harry nervously approaching the stool.  
  
    Dudley had the distinct feeling, as they waited for the hat’s decision, that Harry and the hat were having a discussion. He hadn’t been paying attention to most of the other sortings, and Neville, though his had been the longest, had seemed more as if he were waiting than talking. At last, though, the hat shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!” and Harry took it off to absolutely thunderous applause. He scurried to the Gryffindor table looking extremely relieved, and sat beside Hermione. Dean Thomas shortly joined the Gryffindors, Lisa Turpin became a Ravenclaw, and then it was Ron’s turn. He was pale and slightly green by now, and he scrunched his eyes closed before putting on the hat. A heartbeat later, it sorted him into Gryffindor, and he was grinning broadly as he hurried to sit down. Shortly thereafter, Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin, and the Sorting was finished. Professor McGonagall rolled up the parchment and took the stool and hat away.  
  
    The Headmaster got to his feet, then, and beamed at the students, opening his arms wide as if to embrace them. His long, silky robes shimmered with the colors of sunset, and the strange beasts picked out on the hems in silver thread moved on their own. His white beard was long enough to tuck into his belt, and above his half-moon spectacles, his eyes crinkled with the force of his good cheer. “Welcome!” he called. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!” He sat back down amidst enthusiastic applause and cheering. Dudley wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not.  
  
    “Is he - mad?” he wondered aloud.  
  
    “He’s a genius,” one of the older Hufflepuffs said, “but he is a bit mad. Potatoes?”  
  
    Dudley looked in amazement at the table, because the dishes before him were now piled high with food - roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, all manner of vegetables, gravy, and, for some reason, peppermint humbugs. He hadn’t eaten anything this good in months, and he happily put a little of everything on his plate. On either side of him, Hannah and Neville were eagerly doing the same.  
  
    The older boy across the table smiled, then said, “I’m Cedric Diggory. If you need help with anything, let me know, okay?” This was directed at all the new Hufflepuffs, who all nodded in response, already stuffing their mouths with food.  
  
    When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before, and only a moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in more flavors than you could think of, several kinds of pie, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and an assortment of donuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding...  
  
    As Dudley helped himself to a slice of berry pie and a generous scoop of mint ice cream, the talk turned to their families.  
  
    “I’m half-and-half,” Hannah said cheerfully. “My dad was a Muggle, died when I was little. My mum raised me all on her own, you know.”  
  
    “I’m all magical, and I was raised by my gran,” Neville mused, “but the family thought I was a squib for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me - he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned - but nothing happened til I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by my ankles when my Great Aunt Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced - all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here - they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad.”  
  
    Dudley felt sick, and barely heard Justin’s story, too busy wondering why no one else seemed to be bothered by the idea of Great Uncle Algie tormenting Neville until he showed signs of being magical. Was that normal for wizarding families? He glanced up at Cedric, who gave him a sympathetic look.  
  
    “What about you, Dudley?” the older boy asked, offering a smile.  
  
    “Er, well, Harry came to live with us as a baby,” Dudley began, “and my parents are Muggles, and they don’t approve of magic, so they didn’t tell us about it, and got upset whenever Harry showed signs of it. We all thought I was a Muggle til the letters came.”  
  
    “Hold on - Harry? Not Harry Potter,” Justin said skeptically, but Hannah was already nodding.  
  
    “It’s true,” she said between bites of treacle. “We met on the train, and Harry confirmed it.”  
  
    Almost immediately, Dudley was pelted with questions. What was it like, living with someone famous? Did he snore? What was his favorite color? Could you introduce us? It got to the point where the prefects had to calm everyone down, and once the Hufflepuffs realized they wouldn’t be able to interrogate Dudley, conversation slowly turned to other things.  
  
    At last, the desserts disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again, silencing the hall. “Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you,” he said. “First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils - and a few of our older students would do well to remember that themselves.”  
  
    Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins, who wore expressions of utmost innocence.  
  
    “I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term, and anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”  
  
    A few students laughter, Hannah giggling nervously in Dudley’s ear, but the hall was otherwise silent.  
  
    “Is he serious?” Dudley muttered to Cedric, who nodded, frowning.  
  
    “Usually he gives us a reason, but I think he must be,” he whispered back.  
  
    “And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. Dudley noticed that the other teachers’ smiles had become rather fixed. Dumbledore either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and continued, unruffled, by giving his wand a little flick, as if trying to get a fly off the end. A long golden ribbon flew out of it, rising high above the tables and twisting itself, snakelike, into words.  
  
    “Everyone pick their favorite tune,” he said, “and off we go!”  
  
    And the students bellowed:  
  
_“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_  
_Teach us something please,_  
_Whether we be old and bald,_  
_Or young with scabby knees,_  
_Our heads could do with filling,_  
_With some interesting stuff,_  
_For now they’re bare and full of air,_  
_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_  
_So teach us things worth knowing,_  
_bring back what we’ve forgot,_  
_Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,_  
_And learn until our brains all rot.”_  
  
    Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest. Dudley thought he might like this strange old wizard.  
  
    “Ah, music,” said Dumbledore, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”  
  
    Dudley, Hannah, and Neville waved goodnight to their Gryffindor friends as the first years were all rounded up by prefects, and then were marched away. The entrance to the Hufflepuff common room turned out to be in the kitchen corridor, and the prefects had the first years gather around a stack of barrels in a circle so everyone could see what was done. There was no password, but a very specific barrel had be tapped with a specific rhythm to enter. Once the prefects were satisfied that everyone knew what to do, they opened the entrance and ushered them inside the common room. The ceiling was low, the circular room large and inviting, and the circular windows near the ceiling looked out, as far as anyone could tell, onto a grassy field. There were lots of yellow hangings and overstuffed armchairs, and plants of all kinds perched on windowsills or hung from the ceiling.  
  
    Hannah said a quick, half-yawned goodnight to Neville and Dudley as the boys and girls were led through circular doors to their separate dorms, and they waved back to her. The dorms themselves were just as cozy as the common room had been, with thick patchwork quilts laid neatly on the four-poster beds. Copper bed warmers hung on hooks near the fireplace in case of cold feet, and the beds were piled high with pillows. Dudley and Neville discovered that they shared a room with Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan, and that their things were already waiting by their beds. Too tired to talk much, they changed into their pajamas and fell into bed. Neville mumbled something indistinct and fell asleep almost immediately.  
  
    Dudley folded his arms under his head and stared up into the darkness. He knew that he had a lot to process, and his heart was pounding in excitement at the thought of the next day, but his mind was blank in the way that only profound tiredness could clear it. Even so, he felt sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep, which meant, of course, that he did within moments of thinking it.


	5. Settling In

** CHAPTER FOUR **

  
  
  
    Dudley was the first awake the next morning. Though he was still tired and not even entirely conscious, he found it impossible to go back to sleep, and after a few minutes of tossing and turning, finally gave up and slipped out of  bed. The floor was cool under his feet, but not uncomfortably so, and he yawned widely as he changed out of his pajamas, noting absently that there was a fifth bed in the room that he hadn’t seen the night before, and the boy sleeping in it was - he strained his memory - something Smith. Shrugging, he decided not to bother brushing his hair, and staggered out of the dorms rubbing sleep from his eyes. Once out, he paused to take in the empty common room. The sunlight filtering through the windows was faint, like the sun had only just begun to rise, but already the golds and coppers in the room were beginning to glow with it. There was no fire in the hearth at the moment, and he looked curiously at the mantlepiece, which was engraved all with badgers, before continuing on his way.  
  
    He found his way to the Great Hall with suspicious ease, and he wondered if there wasn’t a spell to keep students from getting lost. As he pushed open the doors, the quiet buzz of his fellow early risers filled his ears. There weren’t many students already up, and most of them were Ravenclaws, but there were a few from the other Houses mixed in. At the Gryffindor table, there was only Harry, and he looked a little relieved when he noticed Dudley approaching.  
  
    “Mornin’,” Dudley yawned as he reached the table. “How’d you sleep?”  
  
    “Like a rock,” Harry admitted, then said in a quiet voice, “I feel like everyone’s been staring at me since I got in here.”  
  
    Dudley glanced around the room, and was unsurprised to see that Harry wasn’t wrong. He stared pointedly back at a few of the offenders, and they quickly looked away. “Can’t be helped, I guess,” he said slowly. “I think after today it should let up, though.”  
  
    “I hope you’re right,” Harry said fervently.  
  
    With a look up to the high table, wanting to make sure he wouldn’t get into trouble, Dudley sat down  beside his cousin. Dumbledore, the only teacher present, blissfully continued slathering a piece of toast with jam. “Mind if I eat breakfast with you? I can at least make faces at people and scare them off,” Dudley said, and his cousin cracked a grin.  
  
    “Sure,” Harry said, and slid the sausages over to him.  
  
    They ate in comfortable silence until Hermione showed up, and after greeting them enthusiastically, she immediately lost herself in a book, nibbling absently at a bagel. Neville and Hannah were next to appear, and sat at the Gryffindor table with the rest of them without hesitation. As Hannah hugged him good morning, Dudley found himself catching the eye of the Headmaster. The man’s eyes twinkled merrily, and some part of Dudley was relieved that Dumbledore didn’t seem to mind.  
  
    Eventually, though, as the Great Hall began to fill, Cedric came over and fetched the stray Hufflepuffs. “You’ll need to be at the table so you can get your schedule,” he said apologetically, and greeted Harry politely before returning to the Hufflepuff table. Dudley, Hannah, and Neville got up, groaning, to follow him. When they arrived, the empty plates they sat in front of immediately filled with everything they’d just been eating, to their amazement, and breakfast continued. Once nearly every Hufflepuff was at table, a short, plump witch with a cheery disposition approached.  
  
    “Good morning!” she said briskly. “My name is Professor Sprout, and I’m your Head of House. I have your schedules ready, so please raise your hand when I call your name.” And she went down the list, levitating a piece of paper to each student. Dudley looked over his schedule with interest, and when he compared with the other first years, found that they had the exact same classes. He was itching to compare with the Gryffindors, and waited impatiently as Professor Sprout gave them a quick rundown of school rules, along with the assurance that if any of them ever needed her, she could be found in her office in one of the greenhouses. Finally, she returned to the high table, and Dudley waited until Professor McGonagall was finished with the Gryffindors before he went over to investigate.  
  
    “It looks like we have five classes together,” Hermione said after examining both schedules. “Xylomancy on Monday, Herbology on Tuesday, Charms on Wednesday, Defense Against the Dark Arts on Thursday, and Potions on Friday. I wonder if we have to share five classes with each House.” No one relished the idea of having one class with the Slytherins, let alone five, but Percy, one of Ron’s brothers, was able to confirm Hermione’s suspicion.  
  
    Since it was Monday, that meant Hufflepuff and Gryffindor had Xylomancy together first thing, so they went to their separate dorms to pick up their school bags and met up again outside the Great Hall. The class was in the North Tower, and thanks to Hermione - and the spell that Dudley suspected was in place - they found their way with no trouble at all. Professor Nespola, a stern witch with long gray hair and dusty brown robes, had them all sit at a round table with a pile of sticks in the middle, and droned on about the history of divining with twigs for what seemed like half an eternity. A few students even fell asleep, and when everyone staggered out at the end, the only one who had any idea what the class was about was Hermione. She was quiet as the Gryffindors trudged off to Potions, not even saying goodbye to the Hufflepuffs in her distraction.  
  
    Defense Against the Dark Arts, which the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws shared, was one class that everyone was looking forward to - but Professor Quirrel, a nervous, stammering young man, didn’t do anything more interesting than read from the book and have them take notes. The whole classroom stank almost violently of garlic, and Dudley, who spent most of the class trying not to stare at Padma, emerged from it nursing the beginnings of a blistering headache.  
  
    After lunch, it was their turn for Potions, and Dudley went into it with aching temples and much-lowered expectations. He and Hannah sat together at the end of one table, and Neville sat at the other end with the Ravenclaw named Mandy Brocklehurst, who looked like she wanted to cry. The dungeons, at least, helped Dudley’s headache a little, since they were significantly cooler than the rest of the castle. His hopes for the class lifted a little when the Potions Master, Professor Snape, glided silkily into the room and began taking roll. He stood straight and tall, but carried himself with an alert but loose grace. Everything about him, from his crisp black robes to the sneer on his face, explained very clearly that he would not tolerate foolishness. And, Dudley knew, this was one of the men Harry had named his younger son for, which meant that he was a great man.  
  
    Professor Snape paused, momentarily, when he came to Dudley’s name, but continued as if nothing had happened, and when he finished roll, he set the parchment down and cast a gimlet eye over the lot of them.  
  
    “You are here,” he began, voice barely more than a whisper, though everyone heard him as clearly as if he’d shouted, “to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron wtih its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensaring the senses... I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death - if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”  
  
    It was a well-practiced speech, and Dudley was confident he’d already said it once today and would continue to throughout the week, but he still found himself captivated. The images the words conjured in his mind were intriguing. Almost as if he’d sensed Dudley’s thoughts, Professor Snape turned sharply towards him. “Mr. Dursley,” he said, voice cool and smooth as the stones in the walls, “what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”  
  
    For one horrible moment, Dudley blanked; then he took a deep breath and said, “A sleeping potion, sir. The... Draught of Living Death.”  
  
    Snape, who’d been ready to ask another student, turned back to him with a raised eyebrow. “Correct,” he said. “And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”  
  
    He said it carefully, and Dudley wondered if he’d asked someone else these exact same questions earlier in the day. “The stomach of a goat, sir.”  
  
    “And what is the difference, Dursley, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”  
  
    Without thinking, Dudley responded as he would have done had Hermione asked, blurting, “The spelling, sir.” Immediately realizing his mistake, he grimaced. What the hell was he thinking?  
  
    A few people tittered nervously, and Snape raised his eyes to the heavens. “Technically correct,” he drawled, and continued, addressing the class at large, “Monkshood and wolfsbane are, indeed, the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. A bezoar is a stone which will cure you of most poisons. Well? Why aren’t you copying this down?”  
  
    There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, “A single point to Hufflepuff, Dursley, for deigning to open a book. Try to refrain from making such inane comments in the future.”  
  
    After that, he split them into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He stalked the room, criticizing nearly everyone, and was just scolding Terry Boot for stewing his slugs incorrectly when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon, followed by a shrill scream. Neville had somehow managed to melt Mandy’s cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people’s shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs. Mandy burst into violent tears and ran from the room as Snape stalked towards their work station. “Idiot boy,” he snarled, clearing the spilled potion with a wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”  
  
    Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.  
  
    “Dursley!” the professor snapped, “Take him to the hospital wing, and come back immediately. And if you see Miss Brocklehurst, tell her she has detention Saturday for leaving the class without permission.”  
  
    Dudley climbed off his stool and scooped up Neville’s bag, then carefully led him from the classroom. As the door closed behind them, they heard Snape ordering their classmates to get back to work. They made the trip without words, the silence broken only by the occasional pained sniffle from Neville.  
  
    “I knew it,” he mumbled at last. “I’m no good at this.”  
  
    “It sounds like an easy mistake to make,” Dudley said, gingerly patting Neville shoulder. “He makes you nervous, too, doesn’t he?”  
  
    Neville shuddered. “He terrifies me.”  
  
    They reached the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey tsked over the state Neville was in and said he should be recovered in time for dinner, but not before that, so Dudley said goodbye and returned to class. He saw no sign of Mandy Brocklehurst.  
  
  
    On Friday morning, Harry received a letter from Hagrid, asking if he wanted to come visit after classes, so he asked the rest of them if they wanted to come, which they all did. At five to three the six of them journeyed down to the giant’s hut, which was near the forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door when they arrived.  
  
    When Hagrid let them in, beaming, he was struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound that tried desperately to lick their faces. There was only one room inside, but it was warm and homey, with hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling and a copper kettle boiling on the open fire. In the corner stood a massive bed with a worn patchwork quilt that looked handmade, and on a shelf was a basket of knitting.  
  
    “Make yerselves at home,” Hagrid said, letting go of the dog’s collar at last. The dog, whose name was Fang, bounded straight at Ron and began licking his ears, wriggling as excitedly as if he were a puppy. Ron, taken aback by the sudden canine affection, suffered Fang to slobber on him for a few moments, even petting the dog’s massive head.  
  
    “So, er, these are my friends,” Harry said, and introduced them all. Hagrid looked pleased as punch that Harry already had so many, though he squinted uncertainly at Dudley. “How do you know me, Mr. Hagrid? You said you saw me as a baby!”  
  
    Hagrid settled down in his enormous armchair, and the kids sat on whatever they could find. “Jus’ call me Hagrid,” he said warmly. “As for how I know yeh, well, I was the one who took yeh from the ruins of yer house, on Dumbledore’s orders, and took yeh to live with yer cousin there.” He nodded at Dudley. “Borrowed Sirius Black’s flying motorcycle fer it.”  
  
    Harry’s eyes went huge. “But I remember that!” he blurted. “I had dreams about it!”  
  
    This tickled Hagrid immensely, but there wasn’t much else to tell, so instead he shared some of the misadventures Harry’s parents had got into during their time at Hogwarts. After that, the subject changed to their classes. The general consensus was that everything was okay, if hard, but that Potions with Snape was the absolute worst. Dudley privately disagreed, but by now he’d heard about Harry’s first Potions class and wasn’t going to push it. His cousin was practically beside himself with excitement for flying class the next Thursday, though, and his enthusiasm was catching.  
  
  
    Much of Dudley’s free time was divided between homework and the little class Professor Sprout taught her Muggle-raised Hufflepuffs about the Wizarding World. This was one class that was, unfortunately, split by House, so though Hermione and Harry were in it too, they were taught by Professor McGonagall. They often compared notes, though, and their penmanship, which was part of the class, improved quickly.  
  
    It had, however, become frustratingly clear that Dudley had only the smallest scrapings of magic. In Charms he was incapable of making the tip of his wand spark, let alone glow, and Professor McGonagall wasn’t sure what to make of his complete lack of progress in transfiguring a match into a needle. In fact, the only classes he didn’t seem to be completely terrible at were History of Magic, Magical Theory, and Potions, none of which actually relied on his magical ability, and even Potions was a struggle. Snape never failed to find things wrong with his work, though at least he was just as unpleasant to everyone else.  
  
    Even so, Dudley had to admit it was much better than Smeltings had ever been.  
  
  
    Harry’s enthusiasm for flying class lasted only until the day of, when he realized they’d be having class with the Slytherins. He poked dejectedly at his eggs over breakfast as Ron tried to cheer him up and Neville fussed over his new Remembrall. The Hufflepuffs didn’t have flying til the next day, and while Dudley and Neville were both nervous about it, they weren’t too worried yet - unlike Hermione, who was rereading Quidditch Through the Ages for the fifth time in desperate hope of some advice for staying on a broom. At one point during the meal, Malfoy, passing their table, made a grab for the Remembrall, but he caught the eye of Professor McGonagall, who stared at him so fiercely that he changed course at the last second and pocketed a roll instead.  
  
    When the Remembrall went missing halfway through the Magical Theory class they had with the Slytherins, Dudley suspected Malfoy was behind it, and quietly plotted with Neville during lunch.  
  
    In the end, however, they didn’t get to put their plan in action. During dinner that night, Harry rushed over to the Hufflepuff table, breathless and full of energy, and handed the Remembrall to Neville as he sat down. “You’ll _never_ believe it,” he said, and launched into the story. One of the Gryffindors had hurt themselves during the lesson and had to be taken to the hospital wing by Madam Hooch, so Malfoy had started being a prat. When Harry had got involved, Malfoy took the Remembrall out of his pocket and taunted him with it, before mounting his broom and taking off. Harry, in a fit of anger, had followed, and had caught the Remembrall out of thin air.  
  
    By this time, half the table was listening. “So what happened after that?” Hannah asked, riveted. Dudley, who was biting his tongue to keep from scolding Harry for doing something so stupid, figured it couldn’t have been too bad, given how happy his cousin was.  
  
    “Well, Professor McGonagall showed up, and I thought I was done for,” Harry admitted. “She looked so furious at first. But-” He lowered his voice, beckoning them closer. “-she put me on the Quidditch team instead of expelling me! I’m now the youngest Gryffindor seeker in a century! Er, but keep it a secret, okay?”  
  
    The three Hufflepuffs promised to keep quiet about it, then smothered him in congratulations, making him blush almost as red as Ron’s hair, but he looked pleased. At that moment, Professor McGonagall came round on her way to her own seat and gently rapped him on the head. “Please return to your seat, Mr. Potter,” she said, but she was fighting a smile, and Harry quickly said goodbye before scurrying off. Malfoy glowered at all of them from the Slytherin table, but with McGonagall roaming, didn’t dare get up. When he deemed it safe, he went to the Gryffindor table with his goons and had a quiet conversation with Harry, who held his own until Malfoy left, at which point he looked helplessly at Ron.  
  
    And so it was that as he left the hall, Dudley was cornered by the Gryffindor boys. “Harry’s going to duel Malfoy tonight, at midnight,” Ron explained as quietly as he could. “Hermione doesn’t want to help us, and you’ve been reading nearly as much as her, so will you come?”  
  
    Dudley looked at them incredulously. “You’re going to risk that much trouble for _Malfoy_?” he asked dubiously. They nodded firmly, and as he opened his mouth to either lecture or talk them out of it - he wasn’t sure which - he caught himself thinking, _Well, why not?_ He knew from experience they were going to do this regardless of anything he said or did. Some part of his mind continued to protest, insisting it was too dangerous, but it faded a moment later, replaced entirely by a sudden enthusiasm for the idea. “Fine, but if it gets out of hand, I’m going to hex all of you and leave you for Filch,” he warned, knowing full well that none of them had any idea he wouldn’t be able to follow through with that threat. This condition was deemed reasonable, and it was decided that they would meet by the trophy room, where the duel was to take place. If nothing else, he reasoned, he could keep Harry and Malfoy from killing each other. Probably.  
  
  
    That night, making the trip to the trophy room alone, Dudley felt like he’d made a huge mistake. As he hurried through corridors and up stairs, he half expected Filch or Mrs. Norris to come slinking out of the shadows, but they never did. Even so, when he met up with the others, each group had to struggle not to scream in alarm. As their heartbeats returned to normal, Dudley frowned at his friends. “Hermione, why are you here?” he asked in a whisper, and she scowled at him.  
  
    “I got locked out of the tower while I was trying to keep them from coming,” she whispered back.  
  
    The four of them slipped into the trophy room and stuck close to the wall as they looked around. Malfoy wasn’t there yet, so they relaxed a little. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where they caught the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness, almost seeming to mock them as the minutes crawled past.  
  
    “He’s late,” Ron whispered eventually. “Maybe he’s chickened out.”  
  
    Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Dudley saw Harry raise his wand, but a voice spoke, and it wasn’t Malfoy - it was Filch. “Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner,” they heard him rasp, and shared a glance.  
  
    They bolted, quietly as they could, and Dudley had barely turned the corner when Filch entered the trophy room. “They’re in here somewhere,” the caretaker groused as he shuffled around. “Probably hiding.”  
  
    Hermione grabbed them and led them quietly down the hall, until Ron tripped over a suit of armor and sent the whole thing crashing to the floor. “Run!” she hissed, and they took off, with Harry, the smallest and fastest, leading them down corridors and hallways until, finally, they emerged near the Charms classroom. It was far enough from the trophy room that they figured it was safe enough to rest, and Dudley leaned tiredly against the wall, panting.  
  
    “I - _told_ \- you!” Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest. She swallowed hard and straightened, pushing her hair out of her face with unsteady hands.  
  
    “We need to get back to our dorms,” Ron said, “quickly as possible.”  
  
    Ignoring him, Hermione rounded on Harry. “Malfoy tricked you,” she said. “You realize that, don’t you? He was never going to meet you - Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off.”  
  
    Harry looked sheepish, but said only, “C’mon, let’s go.”  
  
    Except they’d only managed a few steps when a doorknob rattled and Peeves came rocketing out of a classroom in front of them. Dudley, who had yet to encounter Peeves but had heard all about him, couldn’t help groaning as the poltergeist gave a squeal of delight upon seeing them.  
  
    “Shut up, Peeves - please - you’ll get us caught,” Harry whispered, eyes slightly wild as he darted a glance down the hall.  
  
    Peeves cackled. “Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty.”  
  
    “Not if you don’t give us away, Peeves, _please_ ,” Hermione begged.  
  
    “Should tell Filch, I should,” said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. “It’s for your own good, you know.”  
  
    Dudley, mind racing to think of a way to get Peeves on their side, opened his mouth - but Ron got there first. “Get out of the way!” he snapped, taking a swipe at the poltergeist even as Harry and Hermione tried to stop him.  
  
    As if a switch had been flipped, Peeves danced out of reach, bellowing at the top of his ghostly lungs, “STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”  
  
    Ducking under Peeves, they ran for it, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a locked door.  
  
    “This is it,” Ron moaned as they pushed helplessly at it. “We’re done for! This is the end!”  
  
    “Oh, shut up, Ronald,” Hermione snarled, ruthlessly elbowing him out of the way. She grabbed Harry’s wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, “Alohamora!”  
  
    The lock clicked, and the door had barely opened before they were piling through and shutting it again. They pressed their ears against the smooth wood, trying to listen over the sound of their pounding hearts.  
  
    Heavy footsteps thumped down the corridor, then slowed, and they heard Filch say, “Which way did they go, Peeves? Quick, tell me!”  
  
    “Say ‘please’.”  
  
    “Don’t mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?”  
  
    “Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say please,” Peeves sang cheerfully, and they could practically see him batting his eyelashes.  
  
    “All right - _please_.”  
  
    “NOTHING! Ha haa! Told you I wouldn’t say nothing if you didn’t say please!” And Peeves cackled as he whooshed away, Filch cursing in rage. They heard doors open and close, and after a long tense moment where they thought Filch would check the door they were behind, they finally heard his footsteps as he left. Only then did they relax, and Dudley slumped against the door, turning to look at their surroundings. He immediately wished he hadn’t, and went very still. They weren’t in a room, as he’d thought - they were in a corridor. Worse, they weren’t alone. “The forbidden corridor,” he breathed.  
  
    “What?” Hermione whispered, then turned and saw for herself. Her jaw dropped, and she tugged frantically on Harry’s sleeve.  
  
    There was a long, terrible moment where the four of them stared silently into the eyes of the giant, three-headed dog. It filled the entire space from floor to ceiling, saliva dripping from all three mouths, and the only reason it wasn’t attacking was because it was just as surprised as they were. It was quickly recovering, though, and began to growl. There was a mad rush for the doorknob, and four different hands wrenched the door open. They tumbled through, and someone had the presence of mind to kick the door shut before they all scrambled to their feet and fled.  
  
    They stopped in a dark alcove near the stairs to catch their breath. “What do they think they’re doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?” Ron whispered indignantly once he could breathe. “If any dog needs exercise, that one does.”  
  
    Hermione, whose temper had returned with her breath, hissed, “You don’t use your eyes, any of you, do you? Didn’t you see what it was standing on?”  
  
    “The floor?” suggested Harry breathlessly, from where he’d sat when they stopped. “I was a little busy with its heads, Hermione.”  
  
    “No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It’s _obviously_ guarding something.” She straightened up and dusted off her pink bathrobe, tossing her bushy hair. “Now let’s get back to our common rooms before you come up with any other idiot ideas that could get us killed - or worse, expelled.” Head held high, she set off into the night, and the boys hastily said their goodbyes before Ron and Harry followed her.  
  
    On his way back, Dudley very narrowly avoided running into Filch again, but finally made it safely to the kitchen corridor and tapped the barrels with a shaking hand, almost falling to his knees in relief when they opened. He stumbled through into the common room, then crept to the dorm and shucked his bathrobe, which he’d thrown on over his pajamas, and toed off his shoes before collapsing into bed.  
  
    As his heartbeat returned to normal and he slowly stopped shaking, Dudley frowned. He couldn’t imagine why a giant dog would need to guard anything inside a school, and now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure why it would be behind such an easily opened door.  
  
    He was still chewing at it the next morning at breakfast, and due to tiredness and distraction, would have put his elbow in the butter if Hannah hadn’t pulled it away in time. He did, however, grin at the look of absolute shock on Malfoy’s face when Ron and Harry waltzed into the Great Hall. They waved Dudley over, and he wandered down to the Gryffindor table to see what was up.  
  
    “Hermione has a theory,” Harry whispered as soon as he joined them. “She thinks this is linked to the robbery at Gringotts, you know, where they didn’t manage to take anything.”  
  
    Dudley looked at the girl with his eyebrows. “How did you make that jump?” he asked, but before she could answer, the mail arrived, and everyone’s attention was caught by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. They were all amazed when the birds swooped down and dropped it on the table right in front of Harry, knocking his bacon to the floor. They’d barely flown away when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.  
  
    Ron and Dudley crowded round as Harry opened the letter first, and discovered that it was lucky he had.  
  
        DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.  
        It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don’t  
        want everyone knowing you’ve got a broomstick or they’ll  
        all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the  
        Quidditch field at seven o’clock for your first training session.  
  
    It was signed by Professor McGonagall, and Harry was hard-pressed to hide his glee as he handed the note to Hermione, who read it with a look of intense disapproval.  
  
    “A Nimbus Two Thousand!” Ron moaned enviously. “I’ve never even touched one.”  
  
    He and Harry left to open the package in the privacy of their dorms, with promises to show the rest of them later. Dudley turned back to his own plate and found Altheda sitting patiently, an ordinary white envelope resting on top of his goblet. He realized with some surprise that it was from his mother, and opened it slowly, wondering what kind of news would be inside. Hermione, noting his sudden seriousness, watched with worried brows.  
  
    The letter was full of babbling, as if Petunia was afraid to talk about what was really on her mind, but towards the bottom she finally admitted to what Dudley had expected for a while; that she and Vernon were getting divorced, and that she’d found a job and a new flat for them to live in. She said that he and Harry could come to the flat over Christmas break if they wanted, but suggested it might be more comfortable at Hogwarts. Dudley read all this without much feeling, then offered it to Hermione, who hesitated before taking it and reading it in that absurdly quick way of hers.  
  
    After a moment, she folded it and handed it back, saying, “Are you okay?”  
  
    Dudley put the letter back in its envelope and tucked it into his schoolbag as he considered the question. “Yeah,” he decided. “I saw it coming. It’s kind of a relief, honestly. I’ll reply to her later, let her know we’re okay.” He hesitated, then said ruefully, “I’ve been so caught up in all this magic that I did kind of forget it was a big change for her, too.” Which was an understatement, if he was being truthful. What he really kept forgetting was that this was all real, and when he did remember, he settled into the mindset of focusing only on getting from point A to point B every day. He was definitely nowhere near ready to sort out his feelings about his mother, which boiled down to wondering why she could accept him suddenly being a wizard, but couldn’t accept her granddaughters. _At some point,_ he promised himself, _I’ll sit down and sort through everything properly. I just don’t have the time right now._  
  
    Hermione reached across the table and gave his hand a sympathetic pat, as if she didn’t quite know what to say, and they were silent for the remainder of breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Professor Nespola is based on one of the unnamed teachers who was in the first movie! > http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Black_1995_Start-of-Term_Feast_attendant#Grey-haired_1991_Start-of-Term_Feast_attendant_in_brown_robes
> 
> Also, I thought you might be interested in seeing a list of first years and see who shares a dorm with whom. I relied pretty heavily on the wiki for this because it's not exactly laid out plainly in any of the books. The unfamiliar names you see are from the class list that JK drew up way back when, but because I wanted to keep everything as tidy as possible, it's all been rearranged a bit. Also, Wayne Hopkins is now Willa Hopkins, mostly because I can.
> 
> 10 Gryffindor students (Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Hermione Granger, Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Oliver Rivers, Fay Dunbar, Sally Smith)  
> 10 Hufflepuff students (Dudley Dursley, Neville Longbottom, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Zacharias Smith, Hannah Abbott, Leanne Cotterill, Susan Bones, Megan Jones, Willa Hopkins)  
> 10 Ravenclaw students (Terry Boot, Mandy Brocklehurst, Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, Morag MacDougal, Padma Patil, Lisa Turpin, Kevin Entwhistle, Sally-Anne Perks, Sue Li)  
> 10 Slytherin students (Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Sophie Roper)
> 
> DORMS:  
> G- Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Oliver  
> G - Hermione, Lavender, Parvati, Fay, Sally  
> H- Dudley, Neville, Justin, Ernie, Zacharias  
> H - Hannah, Susan, Leanne, Megan, Willa  
> R - Terry, Michael, Anthony, Morag, Kevin  
> R - Mandy, Padma, Lisa, Sally-Anne, Sue Li  
> S - Draco, Vincent, Crabbe, Blaise, Theodore  
> S - Pansy, Millicent, Daphne, Tracey, Sophie
> 
> It might seem like a suspiciously even number, but considering the fact that Hogwarts does seem to be a little picky about the students they select, it doesn't seem too far-fetched.


	6. Fall

** CHAPTER FIVE **

  
  
  
    Dudley watched nervously as Snape inspected the contents of his cauldron. It was the first time he’d let them make a potion on their own instead of in pairs, and he was hoping he hadn’t screwed it up too badly. It was a simple base potion, one that was commonly added to others to strengthen them, and it was the only recipe Snape was trusting them with at the moment.  
  
    “Dursley,” Snape said, “you added a teaspoon of ground goosegrass and an extra slice of eel’s eye. What was your reason for this?” His voice was hard and cold as ice, and Dudley’s heart sank.  
  
    “I read about it in my free time, sir,” he said, plowing ahead valiantly. “In a potions magazine from a few years ago. It’s for added potency.”  
  
    Snape withdrew from the potion and spelled it into the phial waiting nearby. “See me after class,” he said, then returned Dudley’s graded essay and the now-filled potion grading sheet. Dudley was surprised to find that while the essay had miraculously gotten an E - despite the many spelling errors he could see circled in glimmering red ink - the potion had been given a D, so he’d simultaneously received both the highest and lowest grades he’d ever gotten from Snape. He tucked it into his bag so he could show Neville later, trying to decide whether he should feel pleased or not, and wondered what the Potions Master wanted to talk to him about.  
  
    He packed his things as the other students filtered out of the classroom, waving to Hannah and Neville, who looked concerned. Setting his bag on a nearby chair, Dudley looked to Snape and waited.  
  
    The other man - who, he realized abruptly, was probably about the same age as him - folded his arms and stared down his nose at Dudley. “Mr. Dursley,” he said, in as neutral a voice as Snape ever used, “do you understand why you were given a D?”  
  
    Caught off guard, Dudley frowned. “Er,” he said, and was immediately interrupted.  
  
    “So far, you are one of very few students who have done independent research,” Snape said. “However, unlike the others, you were bold enough to put what you’d learned into practice, knowing you risked a failing grade. In fact, you also risked your health. One wrong measurement of the excess ingredients and the fumes alone would have put you in hospital for a month.”  
  
    Dudley had not thought about any of this at the time, having been much more interested in seeing how different the changed recipe was from the standard one, and made a serious effort not to let that show on his face. Judging by the way Snape was pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache, he wasn’t quite succeeding.  
  
    “It’s clear,” the Professor said at last, “judging both by your essays and your - incredibly foolish - actions, that your interest in potion-making goes beyond simply copying recipes. As you are usually not, to my constant amazement, a _complete_ buffoon, I am going to encourage this. However, next time you get it into your fool head to add a little something extra to your potion while _surrounded by other people_ , I expect you to give it a little more thought.”  
  
    “Yes, sir.”  
  
    Snape stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to figure something out. “You’re dismissed. But for putting yourself and others in danger without even thinking about what you were doing, I’m going to remove five points from Hufflepuff, and I expect an essay on the origins of potion-making on my desk by next Monday.” And he returned to his desk.  
  
    Dudley let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, then gathered his belongings and quit the room, relieved. Hannah and Neville were waiting for him outside, and the three of them hurried to History of Magic, making it just in time, not that Professor Binns noticed. They claimed the only free corner in the room and passed notes, the other two wanting to know what was going on. Dudley explained as best he could, accepting their congratulations on the E and their sympathy for the D.  
  
    “I’m not even sure why I got the E at all,” he confessed later, after relating the tale at the Gryffindor table during lunch. “I didn’t think it was that good, and he’s marked it up so much the parchment is practically red.”  
  
    “May I see it?” Hermione asked, and, when he handed the essay over, immediately began to read, completely neglecting her soup. As she read, he turned to the others and listened absently as Hannah and Ron got into it again over Quidditch teams.  
  
    Lately, he hadn’t seen much of his Gryffindor friends, because he kept staying up late working on homework and reading and waking up just as breakfast was ending, and during the other meals he was either still working or trying not to fall asleep. He had, of course, found time to deliver the news about Petunia and Vernon to Harry, who’d been cautiously cheerful about it and didn’t mind the idea of spending Christmas at Hogwarts. After that, they’d barely seen each other. Dudley saw Malfoy more than he did his friends, and the blond’s favorite thing to do was mimic the voice Dudley had used on him when they met on the train. Dudley, for his part, reined in his temper - which flared a little every time he saw Malfoy, mostly because he kept hearing through the grapevine about what a shit he was being to Harry - and ignored him. It was the safest option he could think of, and he knew it was going to have to change soon, because it was getting harder and harder not to respond just as childishly.  
  
    Hermione prodded his elbow to get his attention, and he looked back at her, surprised that she had already finished - only she hadn’t, really. Her eyes were still glued to the parchment, and there was a little furrow on her brow. “Dudley,” she said, “are you sure you wrote this?”  
  
    Dudley stared blankly. “Err, yes?” he offered. “I mean, I know it isn’t great-”  
  
    “No, no, that’s not it,” she said absently. “Only, if you ignore the handwriting, it reads like it was written by an adult. And - gosh. I didn’t even realize that eel skins could have properties like that. Where did you learn to write like this?” She looked up at him, frowning.  
  
    “Er,” said Dudley, wanting to kick himself. He hadn’t even thought that his writing style wouldn’t match his appearance. _How d’you explain this one, Dud?_ he thought sourly. _Oh, it’s nothing Hermione, it’s just I used to write for sports magazines._ A memory forced its way to the surface, and he blurted, “My friend - former friend - his dad’s a journalist. He used to lecture us on writing essays.” Which was true enough, though Piers’ dad had usually been on his fourth beer by then. “It sort of, er, inspired me. Er. And I think potions are interesting.” He shrugged helplessly and fell silent, picking at the crimson tablecloth.  
  
    Fortunately, she seemed to take his awkwardness for embarrassment. “Well, it’s worth the E,” she said kindly, returning the essay, “though your spelling is a little unfortunate. By the way, are you still having trouble with quills?” He nodded, relieved at the change of subject. She and, to a lesser degree, Harry, had taken to quills with ease, thanks in part to the classes. Dudley, on the other hand, was sorely missing his laptop.  
  
  
    The only other class that day was Flying, and Dudley trudged down to the field with Neville in companionable resignation as Hannah skipped ahead, chattering excitedly with Susan Bones, who was notably less enthused. Dudley and Neville seemed to share a problem with flying that, despite Malfoy’s theories to the contrary, had nothing to do with their weight. Instead, they both seemed to have a complete lack of coordination in the air, for different reasons. Neville’s was his near-constant anxiety, and Dudley’s, well. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was an inner ear issue, but he’d actually checked with Madam Pomfrey, and it really only happened when he was flying.  
  
    Madam Hooch eyed the two of them with her usual mix of determination and irritation, then directed the class in a few simple warm-ups before turning them loose on a simple obstacle course to work on their steering. Dudley followed Neville into the course, not even bothering to focus on what he was doing, because the more he focused, the worse flying got. As he ducked uder a low-hanging line of floating, half-rotten pumpkins, he found himself unwittingly remembering his time at Smeltings.  
  
    Dudley hadn’t thought of the place in years, but ever since starting at Hogwarts, it had become nearly impossible to keep from comparing the two. Lately, however, the memories had begun to intrude on his everyday life, nonsensical episodes that would having him turning and speaking to empty air for a full minute before realizing he was alone in the corridor, or saying something inane in the middle of a conversation. Several times, he’d found himself accidentally walking into a wall as his feet attempted to follow a path that existed in Smeltings but not in Hogwarts, and, to his growing discomfort, Dudley occasionally found himself so immersed in the memory that he even acted like he was a snotty little brat again. he honestly didn’t know what to make of it.  
  
    He watched as Neville completed the course, wobbling precariously, before turning his attention back to his broom. Instead of thinking about flying, he found himself staring down at his hands gripping the handle as if from a great height. As he watched, detached, the broomstick turned into a familiar walking stick, and on the floor below was a small, whimpering boy.  
  
    “Come on, Dud,” a voice called, “hit him!”  
  
    “Teach him to respect his betters,” another laughed.  
  
    The boy on the ground looked up at him pleadingly, a bruise already forming on his cheek, and Dudley heard himself laugh. He watched in horror, unable to look away or stop himself, as he raised the stick and hit the boy over and over, his peers laughing and jeering as his victim sobbed. He’d completely forgotten about this, but then, it wasn’t the first time he’d done it during his former school years, and it wasn’t the last. Then, over the noise, someone cried out in alarm, and the stick was pulled from Dudley’s grasp. He turned to face the thief, and saw with some relief that it was an older boy. Behind him were several others, and one wen to check on the boy Dudley had been beating.  
  
    “That’s my little brother,” the thief said mildly, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye that Dudley knew he hadn’t seen as an eleven year old. He felt himself sneer.  
  
    “Then teach the little freak some manners,” he heard himself snap. The older boy considered him a moment, then lashed out with the stick, catching him in the jaw. In a heartbeat, the rest of the boys were on him, and though he kicked and bit, there was little he could do. Distantly, Dudley felt the pain and fear that his younger self had, and his temper flared.  
  
   _Good,_ he thought viciously at that younger self. _Get a taste of your own medicine._  
  
    A Smeltings stick cracked across his face, catching him off guard even though he knew it was coming, and Dudley awoke with a pained gasp, accidentally inhaling a clump of bloodied grass. He lay panting, bewildered, and felt a faint tingly as a spell was cast over him. “Nothing serious,” Hooch murmured, sounding relieved, and she carefully rolled him onto his side. “Easy, Dursley. Can you hear me all right?”  
  
    Blinking in the sunlight, he nodded, then winced as the movement prompted a sharp pain in his nose. He lifted a hand to gingerly inspect the damage, and sure enough, it was broken, just like it had been in the memory. He frowned, a suspicion creeping into his mind - hadn’t that incident taken place around the same time of year? Before he could examine the thought further, Hooch cast a spell that stopped his nose bleeding, then eased him up and began to lead him away, and so he had to focus on walking. His anger at himself gradually bled away, leaving him with wobbly legs and a steadily growing headache.  
  
    “What happened?” he finally thought to ask as they climbed the castle steps.  
  
    “I should be asking you,” Hooch said dryly. “You froze up near the end of the course, then started convulsing and fell off your broom - which is now somewhere in the forest, I suspect. I don’t suppose you have any memory of this?”  
  
    “No,” Dudley said, resisting the urge to touch his nose. “It, er, might’ve been a panic attack?”  
  
    She hummed in what might’ve been agreement, and marched him briskly along, a guiding hand on his shoulder. As they turned the corner, they came across an old man that Dudley belatedly recognized as the Headmaster engaged in a quiet chat with a painting. He gingerly shook his head at himself, wondering if he hadn’t hit it too hard after all. As they approached, Dumbledore turned to them with a smile. “Good afternoon, Madam Hooch - and Mr. Dursley, if I am not much mistaken. Is everything all right?”  
  
    “Oh, Dursley just had a nasty fall during a lesson,” Hooch assured him. “Nothing too bad.” Dudley attempted to look sheepish, but eventually gave up in favor of studying the Headmaster with interest. It was his first time seeing the man up close, and while the banana yellow robes were a little alarming, he looked a great deal like the kind of wizard Muggles always imagined. He wondered, distantly, if that was on purpose.  
  
    “Well,” Dumbledore was saying cheerfully, “it isn’t a proper childhood without a few mishaps, hm? I won’t delay you any longer, or Poppy will come after me with a bedpan again.” Hooch chuckled and guided Dudley away, and it was only once they reached the stairs that he remembered the Sorting Hat telling him to talk to Dumbledore. He cursed silently the rest of the way to the hospital wing and all through Madam Pomfrey’s fussing. He only came out of it when she pointed her wand at his nose, and, on impulse, he lifted a hand to cover it.  
  
    “Mr. Dursley,” she began, exasperated, but he interrupted her before she could say more.  
  
    “Wait, please - Madam Pomfrey, can’t you just leave it to heal on its own?”  
  
    “I understand if you’re nervous about it, but -”  
  
    “No, that’s, I mean -”  
  
    “- but, I intend to do my job,” she said firmly, and tapped his hand with her wand. “Lower this, please.”  
  
    It wasn’t a request. Dudley reluctantly lowered his hand, and yelped in surprise and pain as his nose forcibly realigned itself. A small vial was held out to him, and he blinked watery eyes at it for a moment before giving in and drinking it. Satisfied, Madam Pomfrey took the vial from him and swept away, long robe swishing against the floor.  
  
    A moment later, Hooch approached the bed and perched on the chair, looking at him very seriously.  
  
    “Now, I want you to listen to me,” she said. “Talk to Poppy about what happened today - she might be able to figure out what’s going on. I know I’ve been a little rough on you, but that was before you got hurt. I’m not going to put you back on a broom until we know what’s wrong. However, you are still part of my class, so I am going to assign you essays until you can get back on the field. You can deliver them to my office and spend the rest of the period working on homework. Are we clear?”  
  
    Taken aback, Dudley nodded, then winced and wished he hadn’t - whatever Madam Pomfrey had given him had made his headache even worse. “Yes ma’am.”  
  
    Her face softened, and she gave his hand an awkward pat. “Get better soon, Dursley, we’ll make a flier of you yet. I’ll owl you your assignment tomorrow.”  
  
  
    Madam Pomfrey, as it turned out, could find nothing physically wrong with him, and she even checked for signs of epilepsy, which made him extremely nervous. Since he couldn’t tell her about the time travel business, she chalked it up to anxiety, but informed him that if he continued to have problems, he might need a visit to St. Mungo’s. She gave him a potion for his headache and kept him abed til dinner to make sure he was back to normal, then sent him on his way with orders to come back if he felt off. Clear-headed but not particularly hungry, Dudley made his way to the Great Hall nonetheless, and was greeted enthusiastically by Hannah and Neville.  
  
    “It was horrible,” Hannah told him, unusually serious. “You went all pale and still, and then when you fell - it looked a bit like a seizure, honestly. My aunt used to get them all the time. What happened?” She and Neville stared earnestly at him, genuinely concerned, and for a moment he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.  
  
    “I-I’m not sure,” he finally said, averting his eyes and fixing them on the gravy boat. “It’s all a bit fuzzy still. Madam Pomfrey says it’s probably anxiety.” This was, for the time being, enough to keep them from prying, but the next day, he found out that the story had made the rounds.  
  
    It wasn’t so bad at first - Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat at the Hufflepuff table that morning and fussed over him, to his surprise - but people kept staring at him like he was on the verge of collapse. Within the first couple weeks of September, most of the school had figured out that he was Harry’s cousin, so just about everyone had at least a vague idea who he was. This wasn’t really a problem except it meant the staring and whispering followed him all day. Somewhere in between the tittering in the hallways and Malfoy’s insistence on reenacting his fall every time they passed each other in the corridor, Dudley had to duck into an alcove and pull himself together. _This is nothing compared to having to deal with Purebloods as a Muggle,_ he firmly reminded himself. They’re just children. _They’ll lose interest soon enough._  
  
    Which was true, because as the day wore on and he didn’t do anything interesting, the attention fizzled out. After classes were finished, however, he still felt twitchy and anxious, so he disappeared into the library to work on the essay Snape had assigned him. Before he’d met Padma and gotten involved with the Wizarding magazine she wrote for, research had been one of Dudley’s least favorite things, even when all he wrote for was a shite Muggle sports mag. But he had met padma, and he’d gotten interested in Muggle-Wizard relations, and before he knew it his flat had been full of books and papers. He discovered that when it was something that interested him, research helped him focus, and his temper didn’t flare up as much.  
  
    So Dudley raided the potions section of the Hogwarts library and piled his finds on one of the tables in a small mountain before getting to work. Turning to the index of Silvanus Hext’s revised _Historia Plantarium_ , he began the hunt for information. A few books - including tomes like _De materia medica libre_ and _De Historia Stirpium Commentarii Insignes_ \- later, he was beginning to realize that the history of potion-making wasn’t terribly well-documented. Running a hand through his hair, which was sticking up in places, he returned to the bookshelves and began looking for more recent works. He’d thought, at first, that the older books were better choices, but clearly one had to know where to look when it came to ancient texts. He browsed the selection of potions essays and magazines, which was woefully small, and scrounged up a few from the 1800s that looked promising. On a whim, he grabbed a few newer ones as well, and returned to his table.  
  
  
    A clock chimed, making Dudley jump and squint out at his surroundings. As he slowly realized that he wasn’t in the library anymore, a certain dread began to fill him, and he rubbed his bleary eyes before checking his person. Everything seemed fine, and though his bag was much heavier than normal, he discovered that the reason was the small stack of books inside. Stuck between two was a length of parchment, and upon pulling it free, he discovered that it was his essay.  
  
    “Hey! What’re you doing here?”  
  
    Dudley stuffed the essay back into his bag and turned to the Slytherin prefect, who was emerging from what had to be the Slytherin common room. The prefect looked him over, then said, “Lost, are you? If you’re going back to Hufflepuff, go up the stairs and turn left into the corridor, it leads to the Great Hall. You can find your way from there, I presume.”  
  
    “Thanks,” Dudley managed to choke out, then turned and made his way up the stairs, blood rushing in his ears. Once he reached the top, he ducked into an alcove and pulled out the essay he couldn’t remember writing.  
  
    It started off well enough, and he dimly recognized some of the names mentioned, but then it devolved into complete garbage. He held the parchment close to his face, trying to decipher the messy writing. For the most part, it was a rambling mess, but he began to pick out coherent pieces one by one. It was as if he’d spilled a bunch of meaningless memories onto the page - they weren’t even anything interesting, though he now knew what he’d eaten on the fifth of October two years previous. The memories filled the rest of the page, thankfully not overflowing onto the back, and ended with the line, “Not this brave at night, are you?” Dudley frowned at that, puzzled. He could vaguely remember saying something like it to Harry, once, but it was ages ago, and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t remember the context. He folded the ruined essay and returned it to his bag, the sentence settling into the back of his mind as he began to walk.  
  
 _Not this brave at night, are you?_  
  
    He was so wrapped up in the puzzle of it that he nearly ran smack into Malfoy when he turned the corner. Dudley caught himself just in time and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, because Malfoy hadn’t even noticed him. The blond was staring elsewhere, hands clutched at his sides, an expression of longing on his pointed face. Curious, Dudley followed his line of sight, and found himself looking at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The trio had just begun to climb the far stairs, laughing at whatever Ron was saying, and Harry ducked as Ron went a little overboard with the excited gesturing. He grinned at the redhead and said something teasing, making the other boy’s ears turn red with embarrassment. Movement to Dudley’s left caught his attention, and he looked back at Malfoy. The Slytherin’s knuckles had gone white, and there was a thread of anger winding through him. Finally, he turned and saw Dudley, and color rose in his cheeks.  
  
    “What do you want, Mudblood?” he sneered.  
  
    “I think the better question,” Dudley said, unthinking, “is what do you want?”  
  
    Malfoy gaped at him, clearly shocked that he’d not only got a reply, but that it wasn’t an angry one. “What?”  
  
    Deciding to run with it, Dudley nodded towards the far staircase. “You want to be friends with Harry, right? He told me about your meeting on the train.” He hadn’t, not in so many words, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out how everything had gone down.  
  
    The Slytherin scowled and attempted to shove past him, but Dudley didn’t budge. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business-”  
  
    “He’s my cousin,” Dudley said mildly, “so it is a little. You realize that if you stopped calling people Mudbloods, he might be more inclined to like you.”  
  
    “Shut up! I don’t need your advice,” Malfoy spat, and walked around him, stomping as he went.  
  
    After a moment, Dudley turned and called his name. The Slytherin ignored him, so he said, “I used to be much worse to Harry than you.” The other boy stopped dead, so he continued, “If I can be friends with him now, I’m sure you can too.” Without waiting for a response, he made for the Hufflepuff common room, and only smiled at Hannah and Neville before going to the dorm and collapsing on his bed. He stared up at the canopy for a minute or two, then sat up and drew the curtains closed, opening his bag and pulling out the strange essay once more. He tried his hand at a magic detection spell he’d watched Hermione practice, but after nearly setting the parchment on fire, gave up on that venture and settled for staring intently at it in hopes it would give up its secrets willingly. He eventually fell asleep, face mushed against the essay on his pillow, and in the morning he’d have embarrassing ink stains on one cheek.  
  
    That night, however, he dreamed of dementors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Sorry it's taken so long to update - first I moved, then I got absolutely stuck on this chapter.
> 
> Given the issues I had, I should probably go through and outline each chapter individually, because my current outline focuses on the book as a whole. :/
> 
> Anyway, the books mentioned here are real books, though so far as I know, Silvanus Hext is not.
> 
> Also, I updated the previous chapter! The wonderful surferofdreams pointed out a discrepancy when it came to how I had the classes set up, so I rearranged things a little.


	7. Halloween

**CHAPTER SIX**

  
  
  
    Halloween took everyone by surprise, because they’d all been so busy with homework - and, in Harry’s case, Quidditch practice - that none of them had realized they’d been at Hogwarts for two whole months. So when Dudley woke to the smell of baking pumpkin wafting down from the kitchens, he laid in bed a few extra minutes, enjoying the quiet as he sorted through his thoughts. It’d been about a week since he’d talked to Malfoy, and since then, he hadn’t seen much of him except at meals. Harry hadn’t, either, and Dudley was beginning to hope that Malfoy was thinking about what he’d said.  
  
    In any case, he had other things to worry about. He hauled himself out of bed and made for the showers, torn between being happy that his first class of the day was with Gryffindor, and despairing that it was Defense Against the Dark Arts. He was well tired of the reeking classroom and Quirrel’s constant stammering, and the others didn’t seem to be faring much better. Harry had headaches almost every class, Neville half-suspected he was developing asthma from the stench alone, and the lessons weren’t moving fast enough for Hermione. Ron and Hannah seemed to be the only ones who actually enjoyed it, and they were over the moon about learning the Knockback Jinx.  
  
    As Dudley passed the bathroom mirror, he glanced in, only to stop dead with his mouth hanging open in shock, because the mirror was reflecting an older Dudley. After he recovered from the surprise, he discovered that the bathroom had changed too, and it was, of course, one of the bathrooms at Smeltings. The boy in the mirror was sixteen and the thinnest he’d ever been as a child. The dark circles under his eyes served as proof that he’d had the same dreams about the dementors that plagued him now. Dudley gazed sympathetically at this false reflection and couldn’t help reaching out to give the glass a gentle pat.  
  
    “It’s for the best,” he whispered, then watched in astonishment as the memory did something none of the others had.  
  
    It changed.  
  
    The reflection’s eyes shifted to stare directly back at him, and it mouthed, “Not this brave at night, are you?”  
  
    Dudley reared back, every alarm bell in his head going off at once. His reflection only stared, dead-eyed, and as he pressed himself against the far wall, the memory vanished with a faint crackling sensation. He let his head hit the wall with a quiet thump and rubbed a shaking hand over his face. A moment later he nearly had a heart attack when Ernie banged a fist on the door. “Dursley, hurry it up! You’re not the only one who needs a shower!”  
  
    “Okay!” Dudley called back, and pointedly did not look at the mirror again.  
  
  
    When they entered the Defense class that morning, it was to find that all the desks had been pushed to the back of the room, and a large number of garish pillows littered the floor. Apparently, this lesson would be a practical one. Sighing, Dudley resigned himself to the Gryffindors finally seeing how crap he was at magic. So far it hadn’t really been an issue, because as first years, most of what they learned was theory, and everyone started off about the same. However, everyone else had also improved over the year. Dudley really, really hadn’t - though his wand form was fast approaching perfection.  
  
    Once the students were all standing awkwardly in front of the cushions and Harry was rubbing absently at his scar, Quirrel turned from writing the spell on the board and smiled nervously. “N-n-now,” he began, “th-the Knockback J-jinx is not complex. The p-purpose of the spell is t-to, as the n-name suggestst, push someone o-or something backwards.” His blue eyes scanned the group of students, and he gestured to Hannah. “P-please stand there,” he said, indicating a clear spot on the floor, then arranged the cushions behind her, sticking some to the wall with a quick, muttered charm. “W-watch closely,” Quirrel instructed the rest of them, almost tripping on a cushion as he moved to stand in front of Hannah. He cleared his throat and raised his wand with surprising grace before uttering the incantation and giving his wand a firm wave. Hannah was flung backwards into the cushions, and she landed with a surprised yelp. She blinked, then uttered a whoop of delight and staggered to her feet.  
  
    Afterwards, Quirrel gave them instructions on wand movements and pronunciation, then unstuck the cushions from the wall and had them pair up to practice on those. At first, no one was able to make their cushion do much more than twitch, but then Seamus Finnegan accidentally set fire to the cushion he and Harry were sharing, and after that everyone paid a little more attention to what they were doing. Soon, a handful of cushions were scooting cautiously across the floor.  
  
    Dudley was paired up with Hannah, and gladly let her go first. As she struggled with the cushion, he turned his attention to the other students, and almost immediately spotted a problem - Hermione and Ron had been put together. The redhead was flailing ineffectually at their cushion, and Hermione wore a long-suffering look. “It’s fli-PEN-do, not FLEE-pen- doo,” she finally snapped, “and you’re holding your wand too stiffly.”  
  
    Ron lowered his hand and scowled at her. “You do it then, if you’re so clever,” he snarled.  
  
    With a delicate sniff, Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her robes, then waved her wand and uttered the incantation without hesitation. The cushion shot away, nearly hitting Justin Finch-Fletchley in the face. The other students stopped what they were doing in surprise, and Dudley hastened to stifle a laugh. “W-well done, Miss Granger!” Quirrel said, looking just as surprised as anyone else. “V-very well d-done.” Hermione beamed at him, then turned to Ron and raised her eyebrows. He glared, then stomped off to retrieve the cushion.  
  
    By the end of class, during which Ron accidentally-on-purpose managed to hit Hermione in the face with the slightly ragged cushion, they were no longer speaking to each other, and when they set off for the next class, Harry cast a helpless look back at the Hufflepuffs, who could only give him sympathetic looks in return.  
  
    The teacher for Magical Theory was a squat, calm Asian witch who was always very kind to everyone. Her grey hair was done up differently every day - this time, it was all curls, and there were little ribbons woven through that shown like sunlight. It made her look as if she had a cloud on her head, and some of the girls cooed in delight. She smiled at the Hufflepuffs as they took their seats, then resumed writing on the board. Dudley pulled out his textbook, parchment, and quill, then watched as the Slytherins filtered in. There was no sign of Malfoy.  
  
    Dudley wondered at it, staring at Malfoy’s empty seat until Professor Saowaluk gently tapped his desk with her wand to catch his attention. “While your concern for your absent peers is admirable,” she said quietly, smiling, “you are in class, Mr. Dursley. Please pay attention.” She waited patiently for him to open his book and directed him to the page they were currently reading before resuming her lecture.  
  
  
    It wasn’t until he was walking to the Halloween Feast that night that Dudley thought about Malfoy again, and he couldn’t help asking his friends if they’d seen him. Neville and Hannah were just as clueless, but Hermione, who was walking with them to avoid Ron, said, “Just now I heard Pansy Parkinson saying that he was going to the second floor, but she didn’t say why. Is something going on with you two? We haven’t seen much of him all week.”  
  
    “Not really,” Dudley said, shrugging. “It’s just, I said something to him last time I saw him, about - before this summer.”  
  
    Hermione’s face softened as she realized what he was saying. “Oh. You’re trying to help him, then?”  
  
    “If I can.” Before they could say more, however, they stepped into the Great Hall, and the Halloween decorations swept everything else from their minds. Thousands of black bats fluttered from the walls and swooped over the tables in swarms, making the candles - which were inside floating Jack O’ Lanterns - stutter. Covering the walls were great thick tapestries with orange-and-black borders, depicting scenes of ghosts and werewolves and zombies. One of the more gruesome figures waved cheerily at Neville, who went a bit pale before hesitantly waving back.  
  
    Hermione followed them to the Hufflepuff table, pausing only to narrow her eyes and turn up her nose at Ron, who made a face back at her. Harry stared longingly after the group, only to be distracted by Professor Dumbledore’s brief Halloween speech, which was followed immediately by the appearance of food on the tables. There was an almost alarming number of sweets, but there were also meats and vegetables, which is where it got a little weird. There was a bowl of brussels sprouts charmed to look like eyeballs, and cauliflower done up like brains, and elaborate kebab skeletons.  
  
    Dudley was just helping himself to a bit of roast when Professor Quirrel came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and a look of pure terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, “Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know.”  
  
    He sank to the floor in a dead faint.  
  
    There was an immediate uproar, and it took several purple firecrackers exploding fro the end of Dumbledore’s wand to bring silence. Dudley, through the ringing in his ears, could faintly hear someone sniffling. “Prefects,” Dumbledore called, voice clear as a bell, “lead your Houses back to their dormitories immediately!”  
  
    Hermione went to join the Gryffindors, and Dudley trailed behind Neville and Hannah as the Hufflepuffs were led out. “How could a troll get in?” Neville wondered, stumbling a little as he was jostled by other students.  
  
    “I dunno, they’re supposed to be really stupid,” Hannah said, reaching out to steady him. “Maybe Peeves let it in as a joke?”  
  
    As they passed through the Gryffindors, Dudley realized that if Malfoy really was up on the second floor, then he’d have no idea about the troll. He agonized about it for a minute, then checked to make sure no one was watching before slipping away and tailing the Gryffindors. He walked behind a couple of older students and kept a wary eye out as they climbed the stairs, but everything was so chaotic that no one noticed him at all. The Gryffindors reached the second floor and continued on to the next staircase, but Dudley broke away, ducking into an alcove just to be certain. He took a moment to half-heartedly try to talk himself out of looking for Malfoy, but in the end, found himself leaving the alcove anyway. Not for the first time, he wished his magic was stronger. If it was, maybe he could’ve learned a tracking spell - it would certainly make life easier.  
  
    He made quick work of it, peeking into classrooms and closets and bathrooms, but he soon got so turned around that he found himself in front of the third floor corridor again. He scowled at the door, and wondered if this had been Malfoy’s destination after all. He stepped closer, and was just about to try the door when he heard a shrill scream. It sounded like it was coming from the stairwell, so he took off, struggling to remember the way. One false turn later, he found himself staring, mouth open, at the enormous troll in his path. It smelled horrible, had to be at least twelve feet tall, and held a club that he really did not want to get acquainted with. Beyond the troll, pressed against the stone railing with no way to get to the stairs, was Malfoy. His pale eyes were huge and watery with fear, and he was panting as if he’d been running.  
  
    “Oi!” Dudley shouted before he could think better of it. Malfoy’s eyes snapped to him, but the troll either didn’t hear him or was very slow. He picked up the closest thing at hand, which was a small, heavy statue of a satyr.  
  
    “What d’you think you’re doing?” the statue demanded in a high-pitched voice, then squealed in fear as he chucked it at the troll. It bounced off the thing’s head, and Dudley suddenly found himself the center of attention.  
  
    “That’s right,” he called, rolling up his sleeves, “why don’t you come get me? Lots more meat on these bones.” He had no idea if trolls even ate people, but he shoved it from his mind because there was really no time to worry about it.  
  
    The troll grunted and lurched towards him, raising the club, and Dudley shot off, sliding a little and bumping into the railing a few yards from Malfoy, who was staring at him like he was mad. The troll looked around, confused, and Dudley took out his wand. “Over here, you big oaf!” An idea formed in his mind, and while he quietly bemoaned its idiocy, he nevertheless risked a quick glance over the railing before ducking to the side as the troll’s club smashed a nearby side table to bits.  
  
    He scrambled to get out of range, and got to his feet. “Flipendo!” he shouted, waving his wand, and the troll stumbled a little, though that was possibly due to its own clumsiness. It turned to stare at him, then lifted its club, and Dudley tried the spell again. The troll moved back a few inches, and it looked down at its feet in confusion. Dudley gritted his teeth, then roared the incantation, putting everything he had into it. He waved the wand almost viciously, as if it were a sword, and a blast of silver light shot out and knocked the troll’s club out of its hand and over the railing.  
  
    Which wasn’t what Dudley had been trying to do, and he wasn’t sure he had another successful Knockback Jinx in him, but the troll turned and tried to catch its club, leaning far over the railing. Dudley threw himself at the troll, yelling as he did in hopes it would startle the damn thing, and hit just right. The momentum knocked the overbalanced troll over the railing, and Dudley was barely able to keep from going over himself. He watched, panting, as the troll fell three stories, missing a moving staircase by pure chance, before crashing into the floor just as the teachers emerged from a corridor. Someone let out a little scream of surprise, and all eyes turned upward to see what had caused the troll to fall.  
  
    “Dursley!”  
  
    Dudley jumped, startled, and found Snape swooping towards him, his face contorted with rage. He was limping, and Dudley wondered what he could possibly have been doing. Before he could follow that line of thought, however, he was seized by the front of his robes. “What were you thinking! Why aren’t you in your dormitory?”  
  
    “I-” Dudley began, then remembered why he’d gone looking in the first place. “Malfoy!” He twisted in Snape’s grip to see if the blond was still there, and fortunately, he was, though he still looked a few kinds of terrified. “Are you all right?”  
  
    Snape turned his head to stare at the other boy and repeated the question, and Malfoy nodded jerkily. Satisfied for the moment, he released his hold on Dudley, then said, more calmly, “Explain yourself.”  
  
    Dudley slumped against the railing with a shaky sigh, putting his wand away. “I heard that Malfoy was up here, so I wanted to warn him about the troll,” he explained. “Since Professor Quirrel said it was in the dungeons, I figured there’d be plenty of time. When I finally found him, the troll had first, so I distracted it and, well...” He gestured at the railing, assuming Snape had seen the last bit. The man stepped forward to gaze over the side, then looked at him.  
  
    “I will leave your punishment to your Head of House,” he said, a fresh undercurrent of anger in his words, “but for quick thinking, I’ll award five points to Hufflepuff.”  
  
    Amazed, Dudley watched wordlessly as Snape went to Malfoy, who was red in the face by now. “I didn’t need help,” the Slytherin said petulantly, but in Snape’s presence, there wasn’t much strength to it, and he struggled to his feet. As Snape began to herd them towards the stairs, McGonagall and Sprout reached the floor, and the tension went out of them when they saw that everyone was all right.  
  
    “Mr. Dursley is the one who fought the troll,” Snape said, gesturing at him in angry, twitching movements. “Pomona, I think it’s best if you decide what to do with him.”  
  
    The witch nodded and crooked a finger at Dudley, who followed her obediently. As they went, he heard McGonagall say, “And the corridor?”  
  
    “Secure,” Snape replied. “Must not’ve had time. The troll moved fast. Come along, Draco.”  
  
  
    In the end, Professor Sprout was more relieved that he was in one piece than anything else, so she set him up for detentions in the greenhouses all next week and gave him a bear hug before shooing him into the Hufflepuff common room and going back to help the rest of the teachers. The feast had been brought to the common rooms, and everyone was standing around chatting happily amongst themselves. Neville and Hannah were on him immediately.  
  
    “Where were you?” Hannah cried, setting her plate aside so she could thump him on the head. “We were so worried!”  
  
    “Did you go looking for Malfoy?” Neville asked, and Dudley blinked at him in surprise.  
  
    “Er, yeah,” he admitted, then drew them into a corner and told them the whole story. Around the time he was handed a plate piled high with food and sweets, he realized that most of the common room was listening. He cleared his throat, then resumed his tale, balancing the plate on his knees so he could gesture, concluding with, “and then, splat! The troll hit the ground right in front of all the teachers.”  
  
    Amidst the excited chatter that followed, Justin said, “And just how much trouble are you in?”  
  
    Dudley shrugged, picking up his plate. “Detention with Professor Sprout all of next week. It was worth it, though.”  
  
    “Why do it in the first place?” Susan Bones asked, frowning. “Malfoy isn’t exactly nice to you.”  
  
    “No,” he agreed, “but I don’t want him dead.” With that, he grabbed a fork and started to eat.  
  
    The crowd broke apart, leaving Hannah and Neville at his side. Cedric hovered for a moment, as if unsure whether to scold or congratulate him, and finally settled for patting his shoulder and saying, “Well, glad you made it out all right.” That done, he wandered off.  
  
    Neville offered him a goblet of pumpkin juice. “So what happened after you won?” he asked, once again seeing straight to the heart of the matter.  
  
    “Snape came up behind me,” Dudley said, gladly accepting the drink. “Scared the hell out of me, I almost went over the side myself. He scolded me for being an idiot, then gave me five points for saving Malfoy and turned me over to Professor Sprout.”  
  
    His friends stared at him, gobsmacked. “You sure you didn’t hit your head, Dudley?” Hannah asked, eyeing him with concern, and he grinned.  
  
    “If I have brain damage, it’s because of you,” he teased, and she laughed sheepishly.  
  
    “Sorry,” she said, smiling and ruffling his hair. “We were really worried.”  
  
    “I wouldn’t have reacted much better,” Dudly admitted. “If Snape hadn’t shown up I probably would’ve thumped Malfoy.”  
  
    Hannah snorted, clearly imagining it, and Neville shook his head. “I think most of the school would’ve liked to see that.”  
  
  
    By breakfast the day, though Dudley was at a loss to say how, everyone in school knew the story of how he’d defeated the troll. Fortunately, the majority of them also agreed that it was impossible for a first year to do such a thing alone, so it was mostly ignored. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were another story, however. The rift between Ron and Hermione seemed to be closed for the time being, to everyone’s relief, but that didn’t mean they were afraid to argue.  
  
    “Honestly, you could’ve been killed,” Hermione said sternly after Dudley shared the actual story with them. “What if the jinx hadn’t worked?”  
  
    “Probably would’ve thrown himself at the troll sooner,” Ron said with a snort. “Good one, mate.”  
  
    “Don’t encourage him, Ronald,” Hermione said, frowning at him. Ron opened his mouth, but Dudley didn’t hear what he said, because Harry lightly touched his arm to get his attention.  
  
    “Are you really okay, though?” he asked quietly, and Dudley was taken aback by the genuine concern on his face. His relationship with Harry had been surprisingly good since the summer, but he didn’t think for a second that Harry’d completely forgiven him for anything. Which was fine, Dudley didn’t expect to be forgiven any time soon, considering, but it also meant that he didn’t expect Harry to treat him as a friend in the meantime, so moments like this still tended to catch him off guard.  
  
    Pulling himself together, he smiled. “I’m fine. I have a small bruise on my arm, but that could be from anything, honestly. I’m just glad you guys didn’t run into the troll, it was disgusting.”  
  
    “D’you think Malfoy will be nicer now?” Hannah wondered behind them, and Ron, who was no longer bickering with Hermione, snorted.  
  
    “I doubt it,” he said, buttering a piece of toast. “If Dudley was pureblood, maybe. Malfoy’s been brainwashed from day one.”  
  
    “I didn’t mean just that,” Harry interrupted, slowly, carefully, as if worried about his cousin’s reaction. “It’s just - ever since summer, you’ve been really different. For the most part it’s good, I’m glad of it, believe me. But more and more you just seem to... drift off. You turn into someone else for a bit.”  
  
    “And then scary things happen,” Hannah put in quietly. “Like falling off your broom and getting hurt, or talking to people who aren’t there.”  
  
    Now Ron looked confused, and Hermione and Neville were watching with varying degrees of worry. Dudley gaped at all of them. He knew that some things were a little obvious, but he thought he’d been hiding his episodes better than that. “I’m fine, really. I mean, thank you, for worrying, but.” He scratched his head and looked away, feeling sheepish. “I’m not having an easy time adjusting, and, well, the situation with mum and dad... I just have a lot of weird dreams, and they bleed over a bit.” _It isn’t entirely untrue,_ he thought to himself, _just... mostly._  
  
    Hermione frowned. “Why don’t you ask Madam Pomfrey for a sleeping potion?”  
  
    “I hadn’t thought of that,” Dudley admitted, and she rolled her eyes at him.  
  
    “After today’s classes, go talk to her about it,” she ordered, reminding him forcibly of the woman he used to know. “We’re all worried.”  
  
    Dudley looked at all of their small, frowning faces, and for the first time, really felt the age gap. He smiled warmly at them, then gave Hermione a cheeky salute. "Aye aye, Captain." Her stern demeanor broke, and she giggled despite herself.  
   
    He cast a glance up at the high table, where Professor Dumbledore was cheerfully peeling an orange. _I have to talk to him as soon as possible, he decided. I can't keep on like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short chapter this time!
> 
> Finally getting into the swing of things, though.


	8. Quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha this kind of got intense towards the end, so tread carefully. I don't think I got too bad, but all the same.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry it took so long to get this out! I hit a block, and then the last Renaissance faire of the season snuck up on me and I found myself having to make a whole new set of garb(that won't work for next year, ugh). But now we're back on track, and my plan is to get Sorcerer's Stone finished by Christmas and get Chamber of Secrets started sometime in early January! Cross your fingers!
> 
> Edit: Everything is indented now! That sure was weird!

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

  
  
    As they entered November, they began waking up to increasingly cold, frosty mornings, and, in Dudley's case at least, waking up late.  
   
    "It's those sleeping potions," he groaned between bites of muffin one morning as he and Neville hurried to class. "I can't even remember the last time I made it to breakfast, and I’m always so exhausted."  
   
    "You were at breakfast three days ago," Neville informed him, amused, "and if you'd remember to go to bed at a decent hour, this wouldn't be a problem." Which was, of course, a very good point, and Dudley could only answer with a muffled, grumpy harrumph.  
   
   
    On the other hand, Quidditch season had begun, and despite Oliver Wood's best efforts, the entire castle knew Harry would be playing. Wood had, however, succeeded in making sure almost no one had seen the new Seeker play, so there were countless rumors about his skill. Harry himself looked ready to puke every time the game was mentioned.  
  
    The Friday before Harry’s first match found the six of them outside, Hannah and Ron coaxing Neville into playing a version of tag that somehow involved cauldron cakes while the other three huddled together for warmth. Hermione had a little blue flame in a jar, and while it gave off a surprising amount of heat, it wasn’t much defense against the chilly breeze. Harry seemed to be the only one immune to the cold, nose firmly planted in a library copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.  
  
    “Did you know,” he said to no one in particular, “that there are seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul, and all of them happened during the 1473 World Cup?”  
  
    Dudley and Hermione looked up from their discussion about homework and shared a glance, Hermione rolling her eyes fondly. “Yes, Harry,” she said gently. “I think you’ve told us about ten times now.”  
  
    “Sorry, I’m just-” Whatever Harry was about to say was abruptly lost to the ether, and he moved slightly to hide the fire from view. A moment later, Dudley caught sight of Snape, and he shifted to hide the fire too, vaguely aware that it was probably not allowed. He had no desire to incur Snape’s wrath, not when the Potions Master had been in a foul temper since Halloween, and it hadn’t escaped his notice that Snape’s mysterious limp had yet to go away.  
  
    Snape hadn’t seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for some reason to tell them off anyway, because as soon as he was in earshot he snapped, “What’s that you’ve got there, Potter?” He stopped in front of them, breathing perhaps a little more heavily than he’d like, and glared ferociously as Harry showed him the book. “Library books are not to  be taken outside the school. Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor.”  
  
    Of course, just as Harry reluctantly handed it over, there was an alarmed shout from behind them and a soggy cauldron cake whizzed by, narrowly missing Snape’s left ear. His face turned thunderous, and he bellowed, “Abbott! Weasley! Detention in my office tonight! Ten points from Gryffindor, and five from Hufflepuff!”  
  
    He stormed off, nearly slipping on a patch of muddy ground in his haste, and Harry scowled at his retreating form. “He just made that rule up.”  
  
    “I wonder what’s wrong with his leg,” Hermione murmured, and Hannah, coming up alongside them, snorted, kicking at the ground.  
  
    “Whatever it is, I hope it’s really hurting him,” she said bitterly, and Ron nodded in such violent agreement that his head looked to be in danger of coming off. Dudley wisely kept his mouth shut on the matter.  
  
  
    The incident stuck with him for the rest of the day, however, so during dinner he suggested to the others that he try and get the book back. Harry offered to come with him, but wasn’t terribly put out when Dudley insisted on going it alone. So it was that before it was time for Ron and Hannah’s detention, Dudley made his way to the staffroom in search of Snape. He had little faith that he’d find him there, since the Potions Master tended to prefer his personal office, but it couldn’t hurt to check, so he walked right up and knocked on the door.  
  
    There was no answer, though, even when he tried again, and he was about to leave when it occurred to him that Snape could’ve left the book there. He eased the door open just an inch or two, and saw at once that the room was not nearly as empty as he’d thought.  
  
    Snape and Filch stood at the other end of the room, the former holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was a mangled, bloody mess, and as Filch passed him bandages, Snape was wrapping them around his injury with small circular movements of his wand. “Blasted thing,” Snape was saying. “How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?”  
  
    Dudley immediately shut the door again and leaned against the wall, heart pounding, and forced himself to stay quiet and calm til he thought there had been enough time for Snape to finish dressing his wound. Then he pulled away from the wall and knocked more loudly on the door than he had the first two times. He waited, and had just raised his hand to do it again when the door was opened.  
  
    “Dursley,” the Professor said, sneering, “what do you _want_?”  
  
    “Excuse me for interrupting, sir,” Dudley said with as much confidence as he could muster, “but I was wondering if you still had Quidditch Through the Ages, and if I might get it back.”  
  
    In truth, Snape looked as if he’d completely forgotten about the book, but now he glanced behind him and wordlessly summoned it. “Inform your cousin that my punishment will be more severe if I catch him at it again,” he said shortly, handing the book over, then shut the door firmly in Dudley’s face. He sighed heavily in relief and immediately took off in search of the others, glad that he hadn’t been caught eavesdropping.  
  
    “I don’t want to know how he’d have reacted if he’d seen me,” Dudley commented to a napping portrait as he passed, making it wake with an alarmed snort.  
  
    When he finally turned the book over to Harry, though, the others were more concerned with Snape’s injury and what Dudley heard him say. “You k now what this means?” Harry whispered excitedly when the story was done. “He tried to get past the three-headed dog on Halloween! That explains why he wasn’t with the other teachers - he’s after whatever it’s guarding! And I’d bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!”  
  
    To Dudley’s alarm, the others seemed to find this theory perfectly reasonable, even Hermione, though she seemed reluctant. “No - he wouldn’t,” she said finally. “I know he’s not very nice, but he wouldn’t try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe.”  
  
    “Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,” snapped Ron, but Hannah neatly prevented another argument through application of her elbow to his ribs.  
  
    “I agree,” she said quietly. “I wouldn’t put anything past Snape. But what’s he after? What’s that dog guarding?”  
  
    “Does it matter?” Neville put in. “We’re first years, we should tell- tell Professor Sprout, or Professor McGonagall or someone.”  
  
    This was all getting rather out of hand, so Dudley waved one of his in their faces to get their attention. “Guys, Snape couldn’t have let the troll in, he was in the Great Hall with us, and right before that Ernie had detention with him. Not to mention on Halloween, he reported to Professor McGonagall that the corridor was secure. I know you don’t like him, but I don’t think he’s the thief.”  
  
    The others deflated a little. “But the dog-” Ron began.  
  
    “D’you think a dog like that would like anybody?” Dudley asked, and attempted to raise an eyebrow. It didn’t quite work - he raised both instead - but it seemed to get his point across. “’Specially since they keep it locked up all the time. Now look, I want to know what’s going on just as much as anybody, but we can’t just make assumptions about people.”  
  
    This was met with grudging agreement, and while he doubted any of the others were sold on the idea, Dudley was glad they were at least willing to drop it for the time being.  
  
    Which meant, of course, that it all went to shit the very next day.  
  
  
    By the time Dudley hauled himself out of bed and down to the Great Hall that morning, it was packed full - but instead of everyone drooping tiredly in anticipation of classes, the conversation was loud and excited and revolved almost entirely around Quidditch. Sighing, he trudged over to the Hufflepuff table and slumped down on a chair, eliciting a sympathetic noise from Cedric. The older boy looked as fresh and tidy as ever as he buttered a scone, and he obligingly nudged the jam towards him. “You’re not sitting with the others today?” he asked.  
  
    Dudley squinted at him, then looked over at the Gryffindor table and groaned when he realized he was alone. “I don’t want to move again,” he grumbled, folding his arms on the table and buring his face in them. Above him, Cedric chuckled.  
  
    What felt like a second later, someone shook him awake, and he sat up with a jolt, startling Hermione. “Sorry,” they said at the same time, and then she smiled and pointed to the corner of her mouth. “You’ve got a bit of drool here.”  
  
    Somewhat embarrassed, Dudley wiped his face and looked around. Cedric had gone, and so had some of the other students, but it didn’t seem like much time had passed. “How long’ve I been asleep on the table?”  
  
    “Only a couple of minutes, I think. I’d have woken you sooner but I didn’t see you at first,” Hermione said, and offered him a hand. “Want to join us?”  
  
    Dudley politely refused her hand and got up with no little effort, then followed her to the Gryffindor table, where the others were trying to coax Harry into eating his breakfast. Seamus wasn’t helping. “C’mon Harry, eat up!” he said cheerfully, piling ketchup on his sausages. “You need your strength! Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team.”  
  
    “Thanks, Seamus,” Harry said a little sourly as he pushed a mangled fried egg round his plate.  
  
    “Banana,” Dudley said with a yawn, sitting down near them. “Keep your energy up. ‘S got potassium. Vitamins ‘n’ things.”  
  
    Ron stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language, but Hermione was nodding. “He’s right, Harry! Just one- please?” And she stared at him so earnestly that he eventually gave in.  
  
  
    Later, when Harry left to meet the rest of the Gryffindor team, Hermione and Ron half-dragged the Hufflepuffs to the stands. Once there, Hermione had pulled a crisp white sheet from her bag, and, when she received confused stares from the Hufflepuffs, smugly unfolded it to reveal a banner. “Everyone worked on it last night to surprise Harry,” she said brightly. “I’d have asked you, but I don’t think we’re allowed to bring students from other houses into the common room. But you can help hold it, if you like!”  
  
    “Who drew the lion?” Dudley asked, looking at the banner with interest. It said “Potter for President” in large, blocky lettering, and the last few letters were a bit smudged, like someone had fallen on it.  
  
    “I did,” said Dean from behind Hermione, and looked shyly down at his shoes when they praised his work.  
  
    “They’re coming onto the field!” someone cried, and then everyone was moving all at once, trying to find a part of the banner to hold up. Dudley and Neville found themselves squashed together at one end, sandwiched by two sixth years who were bickering over the top corner. As it was, they could barely see over the edge of the stands, but they didn’t have to wait long before the teams were rising gracefully into the air. Harry glanced their way, and the Gryffindors holding the banner roared their support.  
  
    The game began, and Dudley found himself wishing he’d paid more attention when his friends had talked about Quidditch. He watched with a vague sort of puzzlement as Angelina took possession of the Quaffle first thing, listening with half an ear to Lee Jordan’s enthusiastic commentary.  
  
    “-Neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood’s, last year only a reserve,” he was saying, voice booming over the field from somewhere to Dudley’s left. “Back to Johnson and -- no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes -- Flint flying like an eagle up there -- he’s going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle -- there’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and -- OUCH -- that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger -- Quaffle taken by the Slytherins -- that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goalposts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger -- sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which -- nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes -- she’s really flying -- dodges a speeding Bludger -- the goalposts are ahead -- come on now, Angelina -- Keeper Bletchley dives -- misses -- GRYFFINDORS SCORE!”  
  
    Gryffindor roared once again, countered by howls and moans from the Slytherins, and as he watched Harry do joyous loop-the-loops over the field, Dudley wondered if he’d still have his hearing when this was all over. He was rubbing his ear when a new voice filtered in, and he looked up in surprise as Hagrid shuffled over. “Hagrid!” cried Hermione, who was closest, and she and Hannah squeezed together to give him space, nearly bowling Ron over. Dudley and Neville waved from their cramped position, and the gamekeeper waved cheerfully back.  
  
    “Bin watchin from me hut,” said Hagrid, patting the enormous binoculars hanging from his neck. “But it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”  
  
    “Nope,” said Ron as he balanced carefully on the edge of the bench. “Harry hasn’t had much to do yet.”  
  
    “Gryffindor’s doing well, though,” Hannah said brightly, as if Hagrid didn’t already know. “This is so exciting!”  
  
    “Be better if we weren’t squished,” muttered Neville from the vicinity of Dudley’s elbow, and he experimentally nudged the closest sixth year. The older student shuffled back, and suddenly the two Hufflepuffs were able to sit up straight. Dudley grinned as Neville blinked at him.  
  
    “You were saying?” he teased, and Neville barely had time to laugh before the word “-Snitch!” was bellowed by Lee.  
  
    Their attention was back on the field in a heartbeat, and they watched anxiously, just as frozen as the Chasers, as Harry flew neck and neck with the Slytherin Seeker. Harry was just that little bit faster, and it seemed he was about to speed up and catch the elusive golden ball when Marcus Flint rammed bodily into him, sending him spinning off course, holding onto the broom for dear life.  
  
    “Foul!” screamed the Gryffindors. Hermione had to pull Hannah back from where she was trying to angrily climb over the edge of the stands. Somewhere behind them, Dean was screaming about red cards, and Ron was bemusedly reminding him that this was Quidditch.  
  
    Dudley, meanwhile, was suddenly feeling very sick to his stomach. He’d seen one of Ginny’s games with the Harpies, once, so he knew that Quidditch could be violent, but... these were kids. He’d thought Hogwarts would tone it down, maybe have softening charms on the Bludgers or something. I was going to let Ariana play this, he thought, and gripped the edge of the bench tightly as visions of broken bones and even death flickered through his head.  
  
    Neville shook him, pointing, and it took him a moment to work out what he was saying, but when he did, he kind of wished he hadn’t. Up above the field, Harry had lost control of his broom entirely, and it was bucking wildly as it slowly rose higher and higher.  
  
    By now, the whole crowd had realized that something was wrong, their confused and worried eyes fixed on Harry as his broom rolled. Then there was a collective gasp and even a few screams, and Dudley swore violently, because the broom had given a sudden, wild jerk, and now Harry was dangling from it by only one hand.  
  
    “Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?” Seamus whispered.  
  
    “Can’t have,” and “Not a chance,” Hannah and Hagrid said simultaneously, both looking a little sick. “Can’t nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic,” Hagrid continued, voice shaking. “No kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.”  
  
    He uttered a strangled sort of noise as Hermione seized his binoculars, but instead of looking at Harry, she started scanning the crowd.  
  
    “What are you doing?” moaned Ron, gray-faced.  
  
    “I knew it!” Hermione gasped, then shoved the binoculars at Ron and Hannah - Dudley and Neville were a little out of range. She whispered violently, then disappeared into the crowd, and Dudley looked back up at Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard it was bouncing him, making it nearly impossible for him to hold on. The crowd was on its feet now, watching in horror as the Weasleys tried to get close enough to pull Harry to safety. It was no use, though, because the broom merely lifted him out of reach. One of the twins shouted for Harry to let go, but that was answered with an emphatic shake of the head. In response, the Weasleys dropped lower and circled slowly beneath him, hoping to catch him in case he fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.  
  
    “Whatever Hermione’s doing, I hope she does it fast,” breathed a watery-eyed Neville, gaze fixed on Harry.  
  
    A movement caught Dudley’s eye and he turned his head, not sure what it was, until he saw Professor Quirrel pitch forward, flailing gracelessly. He had no time to wonder about it, because flames were suddenly licking at the bottom of Snape’s robes. Snape hurried to put them out, but Neville pulled on Dudley’s arm and he immediately forgot all about it.  
  
    Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to climb back on his broom, and before anyone had time to do more than sigh in relief, he was rocketing towards the ground, focused intently on something. He was nearly there when he suddenly clapped a hand to his mouth as if he were going to be sick, and when he was near enough to the ground he leapt from his broom and coughed a few times. Then he held up his hand with a triumphant grin, and everyone saw the golden Snitch in his hand.  
  
    “I’ve got the Snitch!” he cried, waving it over his head, and anything else he might’ve said was drowned out by the screams of delight and confusion.  
  
  
    Slytherin wasn’t pleased, but Harry hadn’t broken any rules, and Gryffindor had won by a hundred and seventy points to sixty. Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results twenty minutes later, but by that time, Harry and his friends were seated comfortably in Hagrid’s hut.  
  
    “It was Snape,” Ron was explaining as Hagrid pressed a large mug of tea into Harry’s still-shaking hands. “Hermione and Hannah and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn’t take his eyes off you.”  
  
    “Rubbish,” said Hagrid, who apparently hadn’t heard a word of it while they were in the stands. “Why would Snape do somethin’ like that?”  
  
    Dudley looked down at his own mug of tea as the others shared significant glances.  
  
    Finally, Harry said, “We found out he tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it’s guarding.”  
  
    Hagrid dropped the teapot, and it hit the floor with an alarming thunk.  
  
    “How do you know about Fluffy?” he said.  
  
    “Fluffy?”  
  
    “Yeah -- he’s mine, bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las’ year. I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the-”  
  
    “Yes?” chimed Harry and Hannah eagerly, the latter dangerously close to falling off her seat.  
  
    “Now, don’t ask me anymore,” said Hagrid gruffly. “That’s top secret, that is.”  
  
    “But Snape’s trying to steal it.”  
  
    Hagrid retrieved his teapot and repeated, “Rubbish. Snape’s a Hogwarts teacher, he’d do nothin’ of the sort.”  
  
    “So why did he just try to kill Harry?” cried Hermione.  
  
    The afternoon’s events seemed to have made up her mind about Snape, that was for sure. Normally, Dudley would’ve been relieved that at least Hagrid still agreed with him, but he couldn’t think of any way to argue with what his friends had seen. He continued staring quietly down at his tea, fingers thrumming nervously on the side of the large mug. Flashes of Smeltings flickered on the surface of his drink, and he steadfastly ignored them.  
  
    “I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I’ve read all about them,” Hermione continued, face set in a determined frown. “You’ve got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn’t blinking at all, I saw him!”  
  
    “I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong!” said Hagrid hotly, brandishing a spoon at her. “I don’ know why Harry’s broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn’ try an’ kill a student! Now listen up, all of yeh -- yer meddlin’ in things that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous. You forget that dog, an’ you forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicholas Flamel-”  
  
    “Aha!” said Harry, “so there’s someone called Nicholas Flamel involved, is there? Did he say you look like a pig that’s been taught to walk on its hind legs? ‘Cause that’s not cheek, Dud, that’s true...”  
  
    Dudley’s head snapped up, but Hagrid’s hut had disappeared, replaced by the small alley that served as a shortcut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk, and Harry was pointing his wand at him, snarling, “Don’t ever talk about that again. D’you understand me?”  
  
    He was pressed against the alley wall, desperately trying to pull out of the memory, as his mouth said, “Point that thing somewhere else!”  
  
    “I said, do you understand me?”  
  
    “Point it somewhere else!”  
  
    “DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”  
  
    “GET THAT THING AWAY FROM-”  
  
    The Hogwarts Express roared past, demolishing the fence in a crimson blur, and the two of them gawped at it uncertainly, quarrel forgotten. As the familiar cold chill crept up on Dudley, he watched numbly as the train hit a section of broken track and went careening off the rails, a chorus of screams rising to mingle with the shrieking of metal. As the back of the train screeched past him, time seemed to slow, and through the windows he saw the frightened faces of the Potter and Weasley children, and his heard nearly stopped when he saw her, tears streaming down her cheeks as she screamed and beat ineffectually at the window.  
  
    “Ariana!” he cried, and wrenched his body forward to try and rescue her, but there was a deep tremor in his bones, and before he could get close to the train, he was back on the exploding platform, debris flying through the air. He did not fall to the ground this time, despite the platform heaving and bucking under his feet like a stormy sea, only stood there and stared in horror. People were crushed under pillars and piles of rubble, others impaled by shrapnel, and there were men and women in blood red cloaks firing spells at Harry and the others. As he watched his friends fall one by one, Dudley had a sudden awareness that elsewhere, all across Wizarding Britain, there were similar scenes of violence. He saw, in his periphery, a raid on his own house, and the fight that Padma put up despite her fever. It was over in seconds, and then he was seeing the Burrow, which he had never been to but recognized at once, and saw it being blasted apart. Then the Ministry. Diagon Alley. Little villages he’d never heard of. Hogsmeade. There were too many of the red-cloaked combatants, and they had clearly been planning this strike for a long time.  
  
    There was a feeling like being immersed in ice water, and Dudley was sitting on the couch wedged between his mother and father. Dumbledore was in the armchair nearest the fireplace, staring coldly at Petunia. “You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted on the unfortunate boy sitting between you.”  
  
    “Us- mistreat Dudders? What d’you-” began Vernon furiously, but Dumbledore raised his finger for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Vernon dumb. A tiny star danced over his fingernail and pricked the skin of his fingertip. Blood welled, then slid gently down the digit. As Dumbledore spoke, the blood slowly turned black.  
  
    “The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house ‘home’. However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom.” His words became muted and strange, as if he were speaking behind glass. Dudley stood, and no one noticed, not even Harry, who was staring wide-eyed about the room.  
  
    Even his own movements were slow and unnatural, and as he watched his hand move through the air, it seemed almost blurry. His hand raised of its own accord, and traced a mark. The air glimmered in its wake, and when he finished, there was a skull with a snake emerging from its mouth. It shone a sickly, poisonous green, and then the eyes opened red and a pale man with a snake for a tongue laughed at him.  
  
    “Not this brave at night, are you?” the apparition whispered, mouth widening into a horrible smirk, and he raised his wand.  
  
    The spell was a flash of green that drowned out all else, and Dudley shot up, gasping for breath. There was a loud buzzing in his ears, and as he fought to get his panicked breathing under control, he gradually registered the buzz as the voices of students. He shivered violently, suddenly aware that he was sitting on the frosty ground in November, and apparently had been for some time. He wasn’t even dressed for the cold and it was obviously morning, but he had no idea what day it was. “-ley! Dudley!” someone called, and he jerked towards the voice, a low keen rising in his throat as the shock set him hyperventilating again. Those standing closest stepped back, and Hermione’s frightened face swam into view as she knelt in front of him. He had trouble remembering, for a moment, why she was so young, why she wasn’t dead on Platform 9 3/4, but then everything slid gently into place and his world righted itself. He swallowed hard, and breathing came a little easier. As he calmed, he became aware that he was crying.  
  
    The crowd parted to let teachers through, but Dudley ignored them, suddenly realizing that everyone was standing a good distance away. He looked down and immediately spotted the reason - all around him, in a circle, the earth was churned and smooth, like a bubbling stream suddenly frozen over. Slowly, stiff and aching, Dudley pushed himself to his feet, feeling like he’d been asleep for days. He stumbled, but several arms caught him, and he found himself looking up at Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout. “Easy, Mr. Dursley,” Sprout said gently. “We’re going to levitate you up to the hospital wing, all right?”  
  
    He managed a jerky nod, and then he was floating, and he had to fight not to panic at how helpless it made him feel. Despite himself, he let a strangled sob escape, and a warm hand gripped his. “Easy,” Sprout murmured again. He grit his teeth and tried to stop crying as they levitated him back towards the castle. In the distance, he heard someone telling the other students to get back inside, and he stared blankly upwards as he forced himself to calm.  
  
     _What,_ he finally thought, when he could do so without hysteria bubbling in his chest, _the hell just happened?_


	9. The Mirror of Erised

** CHAPTER EIGHT **

  
  
  
    The problem, as it turned out, was with the sleeping potions.  
  
  
    Madam Pomfrey’s relief was palpable as she bustled around tidying the Hospital Wing. She paused to flick a cleaning spell at a mirror, then resumed explaining. “We discovered, Mr. Dursley, that you are mildly allergic to lavender, which is one of the key ingredients in the potions you were taking. Normally, this would not have been such a big problem, because your body, in fighting the reaction, would have simply fought the potion off. However, your body tried to use your magic to fight it.”  
  
    Still feeling a little as if the entire world was off balance, Dudley asked, “Er, why would that make it worse?”  
  
    There was a moment of silence as the witch put her thoughts together, absently fluffing a pillow. “When we’re children, we have episodes of accidental magic. These can cause mischief, or they can be harmless and pretty, or, in some cases, they can heal.” She looked at him to see if he was following, and when he nodded, continued. “I believe, Mr. Dursley, that in your past, perhaps when you were very small, your magic healed you. Your body remembers, even if your mind doesn’t, and so when it fought the reaction, it tried to force your magic to heal it. However, there is a slight magic suppressant in the potions, because sometimes our magic is what keeps us awake.”  
  
    “Okay,” said Dudley slowly, brow furrowing as he tried to see where she was going with this.  
  
    “Instead of healing you,” Madam Pomfrey said, “your magic sort of built up inside you until it burst out.” A cold chill settled over Dudley as he realized that things could’ve been a lot worse, and his face must have shown it, because she nodded gravely. “Yes, Mr. Dursley, you are very lucky. I don’t wish to frighten you, but you need to know so you can avoid it happening again. I expect it will no longer be an issue when you reach magical maturity, but you’ve some time before then.” And then she gave him a letter from his mother and disappeared into her office.  
  
    Dudley set it aside to read later and went back to sleep.  
  
  
    He was in the Hospital Wing for another day before she deemed him back to normal, during which time he discovered that he’d actually been there for about a week, so exhausted was he. According to Madam Pomfrey, that was due partially to the massive drain on his magic, and the rest had everything to do with his sleeping problems. By the end of it, though, he was very glad to get out, and when he made his way down to the Great Hall on slightly wobbly legs that morning, his friends were waiting at the door.  
  
    “Every time we visited you were asleep,” said Hermione apologetically after hugging him. “How are you feeling?”  
  
    “Much better,” he said honestly. “If I had to lay there one second, I’d have gone mad.”  
  
    Fortunately, everyone else seemed to have forgotten that he’d done anything at all, except for the teachers, who all congratulated him on his recovery by giving him piles of homework. Snape, in particular, gave him a side project to work on that involved researching how allergies and potions interacted, and Dudley had nearly gotten detention for the dry look he’d given the Potions Master in return.  
  
    After completing that frankly horrifying project and swearing off all sleeping potions, possibly for the rest of eternity, Dudley started to take up regular meditation. It was challenging, almost as if he was starting from scratch all over again, and he didn’t dare try and extend his senses like he had in the enchanted car, because he was half scared that the magic of Hogwarts would blind him. So whenever he could, which wasn’t as frequent as he would’ve liked, he would meditate before bed, and it did seem to be working. He was sleeping better, and having fewer episodes, and according to Neville, no longer looked like a ghost. Over dinner the other boy had teasingly implied a resemblance to the Fat Friar, to which Dudley had cheerfully responded by flicking jelly at him.  
  
    In the meantime, the weather grew ever colder, until one morning in mid-December the school woke up to find itself buried in several feet of glistening, powdery snow. The lake froze over, scarves and heavy cloaks were dusted off, and the Gryffindor trio moaned enviously about Hufflepuff’s proximity to the kitchens. “Honestly,” Ron said sadly, scuffing his toe as they passed Professor Quirrel, whose turban was still being accosted by the Weasley twins’ bewitched snowballs, “it’s criminal how cold Gryffindor tower gets. I mean, it’s warm, but it’s so drafty.”  
  
    “The benefits of living underground,” Hannah said gleefully. “And not in the dungeons. Those poor Slytherins.” She sounded as if she didn’t feel sorry for them at all - and given that just the other day she’d been caught in the middle of the Gryffindor-Slytherin “Snow Prank War” and had a magicked snowman chase her halfway across the castle, Dudley couldn’t blame her.  
  
    As much as Ron complained about Gryffindor tower, however, it was the rest of the castle that was really the problem. Harry swore he’d seen it snowing in one of the corridors, and everyone had taken to wearing their heavy winter things almost constantly. The worst was, without question, the dungeons, not least because Snape was using this opportunity to make them practice maintaining the right temperatures for the potions. His mood hadn’t improved, either, though his limp was long gone, and he snapped at everyone with more vinegar than usual. To make matters worse, Malfoy seemed to have returned to his old self, and had taken up taunting Harry and Ron in the corridors for not having proper families or homes to return to. He tried it with Dudley, too, but had quickly stopped when all the Hufflepuff did was stare him dead in the face for an uncomfortable length of time.  
  
    On the bright side, Harry and Dudley were not the only ones staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. Ron and his brothers were staying too, because their parents were going to Romania to visit Charlie. Hemione, Neville, and Hannah were all going home, though, and Hannah was particularly excited. “Mum’s going to take me into Muggle London,” she explained cheerfully as they emerged from the dungeons, where the Hufflepuffs had waited for the Gryffindors to get out of Potions. She was practically skipping, but even though the pranks had died down, she was still keeping a wary eye on corners and ceilings. “Apparently some friends of hers are throwing a big party, and she wants to play dress-up. I thought I’d pick up your presents then, if you don’t mind non-magical things!”  
  
    No one minded, of course, and they were just telling her so when they found themselves walking right into a large fir tree. They stared at it warily, but the enormous feet sticking out of the bottom and the loud puffing sound told them it was only Hagrid.  
  
    “Hi, Hagrid, want any help?” Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches to look up at the giant. Hagrid smiled, eyes crinkling.  
  
    “Nah, I’m all right, thanks Ron.”  
  
    As the redhead disentangled himself, a sneering voice said, “Would you  mind moving out of the way?” Malfoy, of course. The six turned, practically as one person, to look at him with varying degrees of disgust. “Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts I suppose - that hut of Hagrid’s must seem like a palace compared to what your family’s used to.”  
  
    Ron made to dive at Malfoy, but Dudley, seeing Snape coming up the stairs, caught him just in time. The Potions Master stopped and surveyed them with narrowed eyes. “What is going on here?” he asked, eyeing Ron suspiciously.  
  
    “Nothing, Professor,” Dudley said, and discreetly trod on Ron’s foot. The redhead quickly stood up straight and affected a look of belligerent innocence, ears turning red. “Just a bit of fun.”  
  
    Snape clearly didn’t believe it for a minute, but with no other answers forthcoming and no real signs of rule-breaking, he merely waved them off for once. “Move along, all of you, before I start taking points.”  
  
    The Slytherins shoved roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere, and Snape, with a final glare at Ron and the others, went on his way. As soon as he was out of earshot, everyone sighed in relief.  
  
    Ron scowled in the direction Malfoy had gone. “I’ll get him,” he said, grinding his teeth, “one of these days, I’ll get him-”  
  
    “I hate them both,” Harry muttered. “Malfoy and Snape.”  
  
    Hagrid, who seemed to have worked out his issues with the tree, said cheerfully, “Come on cheer up, it’s nearly Christmas! Tell yeh what, come with me an’ see the Great Hall, looks a treat.”  
  
    This perked them up, and the six followed Hagrid and his tree to the Great Hall, wondering just how much decorating had been going on since breakfast. When they arrived, they found Professors McGonagal and Flitwick overseeing the decorating.  
  
    “Ah, Hagrid, the last tree - put it in the far corner, would you?”  
  
    The hall looked amazing, and as they trotted along behind Hagrid, Dudley stared around in unabashed delight. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and there were eleven towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with frost and icicles, others glittering with hundreds of tiny candles. There were cheery ribbons and wreaths of yew and juniper, and the multicolored candles, though unlit at the moment, had been charmed red and white and green. Each was tucked into a floating nest of fir and holly that sparkled with ice crystals. Up overhead, the ceiling reflected the grey sky, and snowflakes were falling gently down to disappear just above the candles.  
  
    “How many days you got left until yer holidays?” Hagrid asked as he settled the twelfth tree into its place.  
  
    “Just the one,” said Hermione. “And that reminds me- we’ve got half an hour til lunch, we should really be in the library.”  
  
    “Yeah, we should,” agreed Hannah absently as she and Ron watched Professor Flitwick drape golden bubbles over the branches of the new tree. Neville gently elbowed them, and they reluctantly tore their eyes away.  
  
    Hagrid followed them out of the hall. “The library? Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren’t yeh?”  
  
    “Oh, we’re not working,” Harry told him brightly. “Ever since you mentioned Nicholas Flamel we’ve been trying to find out who he is.”  
  
    “You what?” Hagrid looked shocked, and - Dudley frowned - maybe a little frightened. “Listen here- I told yeh- drop it. It’s nothin’ to you what that dog’s guardin’.”  
  
who Nicholas Flamel is, that’s all,” said Hermione.  
  
    “Unless you’d like to save us the trouble,” put in Hannah. “We’ve been through hundreds of books and we can’t find him.”  
  
    “Just a hint,” Harry agreed. “I know I’ve read his name somewhere.”  
  
    “Please,” added Neville, a little desperately, because Hermione had adopted him as her research assistant in this project.  
  
    “I’m sayin’ nothin’,” said Hagrid flatly.  
  
    “Just have to find out for ourselves, then,” said Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.  
  
    They had indeed been searching books ever since Hagrid let Flamel’s name slip, because they were sure they’d find a clue as to what was hidden in the school. The trouble was, although the name sounded annoyingly familiar to Hermione and Dudley, they had no idea what Flamel did, so it was very hard to know where to start. He wasn’t in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time. There was no sign of him in Important Modern Magical Discoveries or A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. Another problem, of course, was the sheer size of the library. There were tens of thousands of books, thousands of shelves, hundreds of narrow rows, and they were too afraid to ask Madam Pince to search the index.  
  
    Now, though, Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search, revealing that she had, at last, gotten her courage up for that particular task. She divvied them up between herself, Neville, and Hannah. While Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random, Harry wandered over to peek into the Restricted Section, and Dudley himself disappeared into the stacks before anyone could ask him for help. He thumbed the spines of a few Potions texts that looked interesting, then eased one off the shelf and began to read.  
  
    He drifted slowly towards a table and sat down, pulling parchment and a pencil - from a case bought off Dean Thomas in exchange for a bit of Potions help - from his bag, and moments later was immersed in taking notes. He barely noticed when Madam Pince shooed Harry out of the library, and a few minutes later, nearly jumped out of his skin when Hannah tapped him on the shoulder.  
  
    “Time to go, Dud,” she said, smiling. “You couldn’t find anything either, huh?”  
  
    “Er, no,” he said, gathering his notes and stuffing them and the pencil into his bag. She walked to Madam Pince’s desk with him so he could check out the book, then led the way out of the library to where the others were waiting.  
  
    “C’mon, let’s eat,” Ron said, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other. “I’m starved!”  
  
    Hermione rolled her eyes, then leveled a stare at him, Harry, and Dudley. “The three of you will keep searching while we’re away, won’t you?” she asked. “And send an owl to us if you find anything.”  
  
    Ron’s eyes lit up. “And you could ask your parents who Flamel is! It’d be safe to ask them.”  
  
    “Very safe, as they’re both dentists,” said Hermione.  
  
    “I can ask my gran,” Neville offered as Ron drooped.  
  
    “And I can ask my mum,” said Hannah, grinning. “It can’t hurt.” And they went to lunch a little more cheerful.  
  
  
    Once the holidays had started, however, everyone was having too good a time to think about Flamel. Harry and Ron, after a few cautious test runs, came over to the Hufflepuff common room a great deal, since Dudley was one of only two Hufflepuffs who hadn’t gone home, and the other was a sixth year who didn’t give a fig what they did. “They’re already at our table all the time,” she said when Dudley asked if she minded. “Just don’t be too loud.”  
  
    So the three of them claimed the good armchairs by the fire and spent hours eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork - bread and cheese, sausages, marshmallows - and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn’t work. Dudley didn’t contribute much to these plots, harmless as they were, but there were a few even he couldn’t resist adding to.  
  
    Ron also started to each them wizard chess. This was exactly like normal chess, they learned, but because the figures were alive, it was a bit more challenging. Ron’s set was very old and had once belonged to his grandfather, so he knew the pieces well and directed them like a small, enthusiastic general. Harry and Dudley took turns using chessmen that Seamus had lent to Harry, and the pieces didn’t trust either of them. Harry had never played chess before and Dudley had never got the hang of it, so neither were very good players, and the chessmen kept shouting bits of advice at them. This would have been all right, but the chessmen also didn’t much agree with each other, so this advice often devolved into arguing and backstabbing. Ron thought it was hilarious.  
  
    On Christmas Eve, Dudley had gone to bed without much thought for the next day, so when he woke up, he was surprised to find a pile of presents at the foot of his bed. He knew he’d get a few, of course, and had assumed they’d be brought in by owl or something. Instead, there were seven brightly colored parcels sitting on the floor, some of them more tape than paper. A warmth bubbled up inside him, and he carefully pulled them all up onto the bed. The first he opened was from his mother, who sent him a long letter apologizing for the lack of presents and wishing him a Merry Christmas. She’d also sent him a big, lumpy blanket that she’d apparently knitted herself using bulky, heavy yarn. It wasn’t very pretty, and it had several holes and weird stitches, but she’d done it striped with his house colors. He wasn’t sure if she’d even known how to knit, before, and a lump rose in his throat.  
  
    Wrapping the blanket around himself and wondering what she’d sent Harry, if anything, he reached for the next parcel, which was almost as large. To his surprise, it was from Mrs. Weasley, and it contained a polite Christmas card, a small box of homemade fudge, and a large powder blue sweater with a D on, knitted far more expertly than the blanket from his mother. He compared the two, and suspected that the blanket was Mrs. Weasley’s influence - his mother had mentioned that they were talking fairly regularly. Dudley still wasn’t sure why Mrs. Weasley would send him anything, but he decided to ask later, and put the sweater on. To his surprise, it changed size until it fit him comfortably, and it was just as cozy as it looked.  
  
    From Hermione he got a case of ink pens, and from Neville a year’s subscription to a Potions magazine. Hannah sent him a light-up snowglobe that showed a snowy castle, and Ron got him a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. Harry’s package, which was smaller than the rest, contained a cloak pin in the shape of a cauldron full of a potion that was charmed to change colors and look as if it were bubbling over.  
  
    Dudley pinned it to his sweater so he wouldn’t lose it and spent a quiet moment feeling pleased beyond measure that anyone liked him well enough to send him a gift. He opened the beans and nibbled one absently as he read through the Christmas cards again, then picked up the discarded wrappings and set them aside before tucking everything else into his trunk for the time being. The blanket he spread out on his bed, and after pulling on his slippers, went to see if anyone else was awake. The common room was empty, so he decided to wander up to Gryffindor tower and see if any of them were up.  
  
    On the way, he ran into the Weasley twins, who were frog-marching their older brother. They all wore sweaters too, though Percy’s had been jammed over his head and pinned his arms to his sides. “Hullo Dursley!” said one of the twins cheerfully. “Merry Christmas! I see mum got you too.”  
  
    “Hm? Oh, yeah, she did,” Dudley said, laughing. “Are Ron and Harry up?”  
  
    “Yeah, they should be right behind us.”  
  
    Sure enough, Harry and Ron turned the corner, and Dudley saw that Harry had gotten a sweater too, a bright emerald green. Harry brightened when he realized the same, and even more when he spotted the pin. On his wrist was the watch Dudley had got him - it was black, with little golden snitches on the hands, and it did all sorts of funny little things other than tell time, and it was water- and fall-proofed. Dudley had used a couple of the remaining galleons from his school money to send for it. “Merry Christmas,” he said, grinning at the two of them.  
  
    “Merry Christmas,” Harry said, shoving his hands into his pockets and smiling. “Thanks for the watch.”  
  
    “Did mum get you anything?” Dudley asked, and his cousin nodded, looking a little bemused.  
  
    “Socks - I think she made them? And these.” Harry dug in one of his pockets and produced a couple of photographs.  
  
    Dudley stepped closer, and saw two photos of a family sitting round a Christmas tree. At first he didn’t recognize any of them, but then he realized that one of the girls was his mother, so the other one had to be - “Your mum?”  
  
    Harry nodded and carefully returned the photos back to his pocket. From the look of things, he had a lot of feelings on the subject and wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. “Yeah, and-” He stopped and looked past Dudley, but the twins and Percy were long gone. Even so, he lowered his voice. “Someone sent me my dad’s old invisibility cloak.”  
  
    At Dudley’s wide-eyed look, he nodded. “That was my reaction too. I’ll show you later?”  
  
    “Please,” Dudley said excitedly, mind whirling with ideas. Ron grinned and decided to enter the conversation at last.  
  
    “You wouldn’t believe how cool it is,” he said cheerfully. “Thanks for the Quidditch poster, by the way!”  
  
  
    Even though most of the students were gone for the holidays, the tables were piles high with Christmas Dinner that evening. There were a hundred roast turkeys at least, mountains of roast and boiled potatoes, platters of chipolatas wrapped in bacon, tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of rich gravy and cranberry sauce - and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. Dudley had encountered these party favors before, of course, because Padma and the children loved them. He watched with a mix of amusement and sadness as Harry and Fred pulled one together and it went off like a cannon, hiding Harry’s shocked face with a cloud of blue smoke. When it cleared, Harry had already put on the rear admiral’s hat that had been inside, and Fred laughed as he watched him try to catch the mice. Dudley glanced up at the high table as there was another bang, and saw Dumbledore swap out his hat for a flowered bonnet, chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read to him.  
  
    After the turkey came flaming Christmas puddings, and Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. This started a whole new round of cheerful teasing from the twins, but the first years ignored this, too busy watching in horrified fascination as Hagrid got redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, before finally he pressed a whiskery kiss to Professor McGonagall’s cheek. To their utter amazement, she didn’t eviscerate him, only giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided. Even Professor Snape looked quietly amused, and more relaxed than he had been in months. Dudley wondered if he should have got presents for the teachers, but he wasn’t sure it was even allowed.  
  
    When they finally left the table, everyone was laden down with things from the crackers. Dudley had got at least three silly hats, a set of gobstones, and a strange little silver box. It fit easily in the palm of his hand, and there was a manticore engraved on the lid. When he opened it, however, he’d discovered that it had a charm on that made the inside bigger. He’d therefore stuffed all his new things in, marveling as they changed shape to fit through the opening, then tucked the box in his pocket. It was a funny thing to find in a cracker, but then, he reflected, it wasn’t much stranger than live mice.  
  
    The rest of the afternoon was spent having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the Gryffindor common room, Dudley trudging along with them and dodging Fred trying to put a last handful of snow down the back of his sweater. The Fat Lady didn’t bat an eyelash at his presence, only tutted over the state of them before letting them in to warm by the fire. They peeled off their wet cloaks and sweaters, and Harry broke in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. Dudley suspected Harry would’ve done better had Percy not been trying to help him so much, but kept that thought to himself.  
  
    After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase the twins all over Gryffindor tower because they’d stolen his prefet badge. Finally, before curfew, Dudley reluctantly heaved himself up and said goodnight to everyone before making the long, cold journey down to his own House. He found the first still burning merrily on the hearth, and the sixth year was curled up in one of the armchairs with her cat, fast asleep. He hovered a moment, wondering if he should wake her and send her to bed, but ultimately decided he didn’t know her well enough. He crept quietly to his cozy dorm room and barely managed to change into his pajamas before sinking into bed and falling fast asleep.  
  
  
    The next morning over breakfast, Harry had a story to tell. Apparently he’d snuck out using his cloak to investigate the Restricted Section of the library and nearly been caught by Snape and Filch. In his haste to get away, he’d hidden in an unused classroom. That’s where he’d found the mirror.  
  
    “And when I looked into it, I saw my family!” he concluded in a whisper, though no one was near them.  
  
    “You could have woken me up,” Ron said crossly.  
  
    “You can come tonight, both of you, I’m going back. I want to show you the mirror.”  
  
    “I’d like to see your mum and dad,” Ron admitted, brightening.  
  
    “I’m not sure I’d like to see the Dursleys,” Dudley said dryly, “but I’d like to see yours, Ron.”  
  
    “Yeah,” Harry agreed, grinning. “You’ll be able to show us all the Weasleys, your brothers and everyone.”  
  
    “You can see them any old time,” said Ron. “Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel though. Have some bacon or something, why aren’t you eating anything?”  
  
    Harry was too excited to eat, and obviously Flamel ranked really low on his priorities at the moment. He made a valiant effort at eating a pancake, however. Dudley smiled and shook his head, turning back to his own breakfast as the others chatted.  
  
    That night, he pretended to fall asleep in the Gryffindor common room, and when Harry and Ron snuck down from their dorm room later on, they all huddled together under the silvery invisibility cloak and squeezed out through the portrait hole. Dudley had been worried he wouldn’t fit under the cloak - he was well aware of his size - but either he’d  lost some weight or the cloak was larger than he’d thought. They slowly made their way through the corridors, trying to retrace Harry’s route from the library and hiding from the occasional passing ghost. They wandered for about an hour until, just as Ron started complaining about his feet freezing off, Harry spotted a suit of armor he recognized, and pushed open the door beside it.  
  
    Dudley entered last, and shut the door quietly behind them before turning to look. There were desks and chairs piled up all around the edges of the room, and propped against the far wall was a magnificent, narrow mirror. It stood on two clawed feet and was nearly as tall as the ceiling, and the rounded top of it bore an engraved phrase: Erised stra ehru oyt cafru oyt on wohsi.  
  
    “Look,” Harry was whispering, setting the cloak aside as he stopped directly in front of the mirror. “Look at all of them, there are loads of them.” Ron frowned.  
  
    “I can only see you,” he said, and Dudley silently agreed, eyeing the mirror with some concern. There was no one in it but Harry’s reflection.  
  
    “Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am.” Harry stepped aside, and Ron shuffled over to stand where he’d been - and stopped dead, staring.  
  
    “Look at me!” he breathed, and the hair stood up on the back of Dudley’s neck.  
  
    “Can you see all your family around you?” Harry asked eagerly, but Ron was already shaking his head.  
  
    “No, I’m alone - but I’m different! I look older, and - I’m Head Boy!”  
  
    “What?”  
  
    “I am! I’m wearing the badge like Bill used to, and I’m holding the House Cup and the Quidditch cup - I’m Quidditch captain, too!”  
  
    “Let me have a look, Ron,” Dudley whispered, and the redhead reluctantly moved aside before grinning at Harry.  
  
    “D’you think this mirror shows the future?” he asked excitedly.  
  
    Dudley stepped into place, wondering what the mirror would show him, and his heart nearly stopped. All his trepidation was thrust from his mind, because standing behind him, a hand on his shoulder, was Padma, just as he remembered her. Ariana was on his other side, holding his hand and beaming. The twins, Harriet and Parvati, stood in front of all of them, mischievous smirks on their faces. Dudley’s own reflection was different, too - he was older, and looked peaceful and happy. He tore his eyes from the vision to look behind himself, but no one was there, of course. Still, it seemed as if he could feel Padma’s hand on his shoulder, and he stretched a hand out to the mirror, wishing he could touch them.  
  
    “Dudley!” someone hissed in alarm. “Are you okay?”  
  
    He snapped out of his daze and realized he’d fallen to his knees. Harry and Ron helped him up, and he smiled shakily at them. “I- I’m fine, just saw...” he trailed off, unsure how to lie. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I saw my mum and dad, and they were both - both proud of me, and I had an award in Potions.” His voice shook, and he was so sure that one of them would see through it, but all he got were sympathetic nods.  
  
    Before anything else could be said, there was a sudden noise in the corridor, and Harry flung the cloak over them. The door creaked open - hadn’t he closed that all the way? - and the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris peered in at them. They huddled quietly, not quite daring to breathe, all of them wondering if the cloak even worked on cats. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she turned and left, and they all heaved a sigh of relief.  
  
    “This isn’t safe- I bet she’s gone for Filch. Come on. Dudley, you might want to say with us tonight, dunno if you can get back without getting caught,” whispered Ron, and led them out of the room.  
  
  
    The next day found Harry and Dudley both unable to take their minds off the mirror, and despite several warnings from Ron not to, they snuck out together anyway. It was easier to find the room this time, and once there, they discovered that if they sat wedged side by side in a particular spot, they could both see the mirror. And once they settled, there they were - Padma and the girls smiling out at Dudley, all seated around him. At his side, Harry gazed almost hungrily at the mirror, already seeing the Potters. There was nothing to stop the both of them from spending the night there, gazing at their families. Nothing, except -  
  
    “So - back again, boys?”  
  
    Harry jumped about a foot, nearly bowling Dudley over. Feeling as if he’d turned to ice, Dudley turned to look behind them. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore, and Dudley swallowed a curse. They must’ve walked right past him in their eagerness to get to the mirror.  
  
    “I, er, we didn’t see you, sir,” Harry stammered, face white with fear.  
  
    “Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you,” said Dumbledore, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. He slipped off the desk to sit on the floor with them. “So you two, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.”  
  
    “I didn’t know it was called that, sir,” Harry hazarded when Dudley kept silent.  
  
    “But I expect you’ve realized by now what it does?”  
  
    “It, well, it shows me my family-”  
  
    “And it showed your friend Ron himself as Head Boy, and your cousin getting the approval of both his parents.”  
  
    “How did you know-?”  
  
    “I don’t need a cloak to become invisible,” said Dumbledore gently. “Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?”  
  
    Harry shook his head, but Dudley said, slowly, “It shows us what we want?”  
  
    “Yes and no,” said the Headmaster, eyes twinkling at him. “It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.” He paused, adjusting his glasses, and Dudley shivered. _Should have listened to my gut,_ he thought, then listened as Dumbledore went on. “The mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, and I ask the two of you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, Harry, why don’t you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed? I will walk your cousin to his own House.”  
  
    Harry stood up. “Sir- Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?”  
  
    “Obviously, you’ve just done so,” Dumbledore smiled. “You may ask me one more thing, however.”  
  
    Harry flushed, but carried on, asking, “What do you see when you look in the mirror?”  
  
    “I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks.” Harry stared, and Dumbledore chuckled. “One can never have enough socks. Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.”  
  
    Perplexed, Harry mumbled a goodnight to both of them and donned the cloak, and Dumbledore got to his feet. “Well, then, Mr. Dursley,” he said cheerfully, “let’s get you to your dorm.”  
  
    Dudley stood slowly, glancing behind him at the mirror one last time. Padma and the girls waved at him, all smiles, and, taking a deep breath, he followed Dumbledore out of the room. The door locked behind them, and they walked in silence. They ran into no one on their walk down to the Hufflepuff common room, not even a ghost, and arrived suspiciously quickly.  
  
    “Here we are,” Dumbledore said, smiling down at him as he tapped the correct barrel. “Good night, Mr. Dursley.” He turned to go.  
  
    Taking a deep breath, Dudley said, “Wait, Professor.” The wizard turned back to him, eyebrows raised inquiringly, but his eyes were twinkling as if he’d been waiting for him to speak up. “Er - this is going to seem strange, but it’s important. Is there sometime soon I could meet with you in your office?”  
  
    This was obviously not what Dumbledore had been expecting, but he didn’t hesitate to nod, smiling. “Monday afternoon, perhaps? Say, just after lunch?” he suggested, and Dudley sagged with relief.  
  
    “Yes, thank you, that’s perfect,” he said.  
  
    Dumbledore chuckled. “I shall see you there. A note - I occasionally find myself craving acid pops.” And then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord I hope all of this sounds plausible.
> 
> Obviously the potions are not the root of all Dudley's problems, but they were certainly responsible for part of the most recent ones!


	10. Dudley's Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! A quick note before we begin - I've gone through and tweaked the other chapters some, so if you reread and notice things are different, that's why.
> 
> Moving on, as of this very moment I have this entire fic finished. However, I want to go over the final chapters before I upload, so I'll be updating the fic over the next couple days, give or take.

** CHAPTER NINE **

  
  
  
    “Ah, Mr. Dursley. Right on time! Come in, have a seat.”  
  
    Dudley stepped into the Headmaster’s office and stared. It was a large, circular room, with tall arched windows that let in golden rays of sunlight. Hundreds of tiny objects scattered throughout the space released funny little chirps and dings into the air, and there were several brilliantly green plants on the shelves in oddly shaped pots. A number of gleaming silver instruments stood on delicate little tables, occasionally whirring and emitting gentle puffs of steam. One, he saw, was more interested in creating elaborate steam portraits, and he watched with bemusement as the rainbow portrait of a stern-looking witch floated serenely to the ceiling. The walls, where they weren’t hidden by charmingly cluttered shelves, were covered with portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were napping in their frames, though one or two occasionally cracked an eye open to see what was going on. Dumbledore himself was sitting at an enormous claw-footed desk covered in books and scraps of parchment and novelty inkwells, and behind him on a shelf was the Sorting Hat. The point of it crooked up a little, as if waving, and Dudley nodded to it. To the left of the desk was a perch, upon which a scarlet bird was dozing with its head tucked into its wing.  
  
    He eased further into the room, a little concerned about knocking something over, and made his way over to the desk to sink down into a chair. Dumbledore held out a bowl of candy. “Lemon drop?” he offered.  
  
    “Er - no thank you,” said Dudley, taken aback.  
  
    The wizard didn’t seem too put out by this, and selected a candy for himself before setting the bowl aside. “Now, what was it you wished to speak to me about?”  
  
    A part of Dudley’s brain was shouting, panicked, _Just forget it! Lie through your teeth! He’ll think you’re mad!_ , but Dudley took a deep breath and drew his thoughts together. Finally, he settled for starting with, “Professor, until very recently, I was a thirty-seven year old Muggle.”  
  
    The Headmaster went very still and studied him with an unreadable expression. “Is that so?” he said mildly.  
  
    “I was still Dudley Dursley, I mean,” Dudley hastened to assure him, “but I grew up without magic. Er. I suppose this isn’t the best way to start this off. But the reason I’m like this now, at least, as much as I know of it, is I was dropping my daughter off on September 1st, 2017, with Harry and his family, at Platform 9 3/4. After the train left, the station was attacked, and when I woke up, I was eleven again.” He stopped to take a stabilizing breath, then barrelled on. “And I know this is hard to believe, but, well, you can read minds, can’t you? Or is there a... a truth potion you could use?” He stared earnestly at the Headmaster, doing his damnedest not to seem threatening, and tried to remember not to hold his breath.  
  
    Dumbledore was silent for so long that Dudley’s nervousness welled up and caused him to open his mouth, maybe to lie and say it was a joke, anything, but the Headmaster raised a hand to silence him, and Dudley’s mouth snapped shut. “My dear boy,” Dumbledore said, leaning forward and peering gravely over his half-moon spectacles, “if what you say is true, then I think I would only confuse your mind further by poking around inside - and it is quite confused, isn’t it?” Dudley nodded. “I only have one question at the moment, and it is quite a personal one.”  
  
    The old wizard waited patiently for him to realize he was asking for permission, at which point Dudley gave a short nod and braced himself. He was not at all prepared for Dumbledore to ask, “What did you truly see in the Mirror?”  
  
    Dudley gaped at him. “I- I saw my family, my wife and daughters.” _But what has that got to do with anything?_  
  
    To his further surprise, a slow smile spread over Dumbledore’s face. At a gesture from him, a tray of hot tea and an assortment of fresh biscuits popped gently into existence on his desk. “Mr. Dursley - may I call you Dudley? Excellent - I must confess that I’ve been, shall we say, keeping an eye on you.”  
  
    Accepting a teacup that floated his way, Dudley said, “What d’you mean?”  
  
    Dumbledore took a hearty sip of his own tea and hummed thoughtfully over the selection of biscuits before finally settling on one covered in a liberal amount of color-changing sprinkles and self-fluffing icing. “Most children,” he explained, “begin to exhibit magical ability very young. A rare few may take until their tenth year. Even rarer are those who take until early adulthood. But for magical ability to appear in a Muggleborn the day of their eleventh birthday? It’s unheard of - even more when that same date marks a drastic change in their personality and behavior.” He raised his eyebrows in amusement.  
  
    Sipping cautiously at the hot tea in his hands, Dudley frowned. “But how did you hear-? Oh! Mrs. Figg?” She had definitely been suspicious of him for most of the summer, and she was more than strange enough to be a member of the wizarding community.  
  
    “Precisely,” Dumbledore said, sounding pleased. “I am also not unaware of your panic attacks and lapses in memory. The paintings do so love to gossip, and some have been quite worried about you. I must admit, after that allergic reaction of yours put my theories to shame, I am quite relieved to have the answer to the mystery.”  
  
    Somehow, Dudley had not expected to be believed. He had thought that there would be an investigation, that there would still be a chance of getting shipped off to St. Mungo’s. “I- you believe me?” he stammered, hardly able to wrap his mind around it. “Why?”  
  
    “Call it a hunch. I would still like to use a truth serum in the future, just to make absolutely certain, but you’ve been projecting your thoughts loudly enough that I am not terribly concerned.” Dudley blushed, to the Headmaster’s obvious amusement. “In terms of your mind, I may be able to help. Have you heard of meditation?”  
  
    “Er, yes,” the first-year said, sitting up straight. “I used to practice every night, before the attack, and since the allergy thing I’ve been trying to get back into it.”  
  
    Dumbledore beamed. “Well, well, you are halfway there already. What I’d like you to do is make nightly practice a habit again - perhaps half an hour before bed? - and towards the end of each session, sort through your memories. Imagine your mind as a chest of drawers, or a trunk, or a book, and put every memory in its own special place, then close it up and go straight to sleep.” At Dudley’s puzzled look, he explained. “I suspect that part of the problem is that your mind and that of your younger self combined upon your arrival. As a result, everything got all mixed up, so that your old memories conflict with the new. You have also suffered a great trauma, one which both minds would have difficulty coping with, the younger especially. This is just a theory, of course, but I believe that regardless, it will be beneficial.”  
  
    This made sense, and was more or less what he himself had guessed, though he wasn’t sure what Dumbledore meant by trauma. “Do you think this mental box will fix all that?” Dudley asked.  
  
    “No,” the other wizard said, voice gentle. “But it will help, and when you’re more settled, we can work towards something more permanent. In the meantime, I think perhaps we should meet once a month. Having someone you can openly discuss these things with will ease your stress, and once you’ve control of your memories, well. We shall uncover the truth behind your situation.”  
  
  
    Meditation came as easy as breathing now that he was back in practice, but alongside the challenge of remembering to do it every night was a new problem; the sorting of memories itself. Strangely, he had a hard time picking what to store them in - he tried the metal file cabinet from his job with the magazine, his Hogwarts trunk, a dresser, a computer, his school bag, even a newspaper, but nothing felt right and he couldn’t picture them clearly for more than a moment before they slipped away into indistinct blurs. Tamping down his frustration for the fifth night in a row, Dudley settled back into his breathing routine and let his mind wander on its own for a while. Eventually, he absently stopped on a leatherbound book, one he’d seen at Flourish  & Blotts in Diagon Alley. He couldn’t remember which lifetime it had been, but he knew he’d thought about buying it. The price had been a little steep for a journal, though, and at the time he’d had no use for it. Dudley frowned a little, trying to remember more about it. The leather had been dark - black? no, green - and covered in fanciful engravings, which were decorated with gold leaf and melodramatically acted out scenes from wizard fairy tales. The pages were creamy and smooth, edged with gold, and stamped on each was a curious symbol. It was a triangle holding a circle with a line struck through, and it was tangled in leafy vines.  
  
    Dudley was already tucking memories into the heavy pages when he realized his success, and as soon as he did, he lost concentration and had to start all over again. But he had it now, and though he fell asleep halfway through, he woke up feeling better than he had in months. By breakfast, the discovery that Harry was having nightmares put a dampener on his mood.  
  
    “It’s happened ever since Dumbledore caught us,” the smaller boy confessed, picking absently at his steak and eggs. “Every night. I keep seeing my parents disappear in a flash of green light, and then there’s -” He hesitated, then said, “Then I hear someone laughing.”  
  
    “You see,” Ron said, a trace smugly, around a mouthful of sausage. “Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad.”  
  
    “Shut up, Ron,” Dudley said mildly, earning only a muffled protest. “Harry, these nightmares will probably go away on their own pretty soon. But if they don’t, you should probably talk to Madam Pomfrey about it. She has to deal with nightmares all the time.”  
  
    The day before term started, the missing half of their group returned, and listened with some concern to the story of the mirror. Hannah was sorry to have missed the adventure, not particularly interested in the mirror itself, and Neville seemed a little wistful but glad in the end to have been absent. Hermione was generally unimpressed and rather horrified by all the sneaking around they’d been doing - “If Filch had caught you!” - and disappointed that no one had dug up anything about Flamel. Neville had caught a nasty cold over the break, and between that and interacting with his numerous relatives, hadn’t got the chance to ask his gran anything at all. Hannah’s mother simply hadn’t had any idea who Flamel was.  
  
    They had almost given up hope of ever coming across him in a library book, though Harry was still dead certain he’d read the name somewhere. The beginning of term also cut down their research time until it was almost nonexistent. Everyone was bogged down with piles of homework, and Harry, on top of that, had Quidditch practice again. Wood, the Gryffindor captain, was pushing the team especially hard, because if Gryffindor won against Hufflepuff in the next match, then they’d overtake Slytherin in the House championship for the first time in seven years. Hannah and Ron took to being cheerfully antagonistic towards each other in the halls, trash-talking the opposing House when they passed each other on the way to classes.  
  
    But on one particularly rainy day, when the group met up in one of the unused classrooms to study, Harry returned from practice with some bad news. “Snape’s refereeing the match,” he said grimly as he sat down. Neville was the only one missing - the rest looked at Harry with concern.  
  
    “Don’t play,” said Hermione at once.  
  
    “Say you’re ill,” Ron said.  
  
    “Pretend to break your leg,” Hermione suggested, warming to the idea.  
  
    “Really break your leg,” Hannah put in.  
  
    “I can’t,” Harry said, ruffling his hair in frustration. “There’s no reserve Seeker, so if I back out, Gryffindor can’t play at all.”  
  
    “What if-” Dudley began, but at that moment, the door opened and Neville toppled into the room, his bag spilling and sending books and writing supplies flying. He’d been hit by the Leg-Locker curse, and how he’d gotten to the room at all was anyone’s guess. Ron snickered, but Hermione leapt up at once and performed the counter spell as she hurried to Neville’s side. Neville’s legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling and looking worn out from what must’ve been a harrowing journey.  
  
    “What’s happened?” Harry asked as he dug his elbow into Ron’s side. Hermione handed Neville his things and guided him over to the desks, where he gratefully took a seat.  
  
    “Malfoy,” the round boy said, shakily. “He caught me outside the library, said he’d been looking for someone to practice on.”  
  
    “Go to Professor Sprout,” Hannah suggested. “Or anyone! Report that little-”  
  
    Neville shook his head. “I don’t want any trouble,” he mumbled.  
  
    Ron groaned. “You’ve got to stand up to him, Neville! He’s used to walking all over people, but that’s no reason to just lay down and play the doormat.”  
  
    “There’s no need to tell me I’m a coward, Malfoy’s already done that,” Neville choked out.  
  
    Harry dug in his pockets, then pulled out a Chocolate Frog, his last one leftover from Christmas. He pressed it into Neville’s hands, saying with a furrowed brow, “You’re worth twelve of Malfoy. You’re in Hufflepuff, which means you’re a lot better than anyone in slimy old Slytherin.”  
  
    “Yeah!” Hannah agreed, and gave Neville a fierce hug that came dangerously close to squeezing the life out of him. “Badgers are totally tougher than snakes!”  
  
    The rest put in similar encouragements, and Neville smiled weakly and unwrapped the frog as Hannah let go of him. “Thanks, guys,” he murmured. “I-” And then he stopped, and stared at the Chocolate Frog card in his hand. It was Dumbledore’s card, and the wizard’s eyes twinkled merrily up at the boy as he read.  
  
    “I think I just found what we needed,” Neville said finally, and read aloud, “’Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel.’”  
  
    Hermione jumped to her feet, practically glowing with excitement. “Oh!” she cried, and ran to dig around in her bag, which had been left on another desk nearby. She rummaged around, then, at last, freed an enormous tome and carried it back over to them, letting it drop onto the desk with a bang. “I never thought to look in here! I got this out of the library ages ago for some light reading!”  
  
    “ _Light_?” said Ron, but was ignored by everyone else as Hermione started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself. At last, she stopped and pointed triumphantly at her quarry.  
  
    “I knew it! I knew it!” she said, delighted. “Nicholas Flamel is the only known maker of the Sorcerer’s Stone!” She looked up into blank faces, and uttered a noise of disgust. “Oh, honestly, don’t any of you read? Look - read that, right there.”  
  
    She turned the book around and pushed it towards them, and they crowded around to read:  
  
                        The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a  
                        legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform  
                        any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which  
                        will make the drinker immortal.  
                        There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries,  
                        but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel,  
                        the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six  
                        hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon  
                        with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).  
  
    “See?” Hermione said when they had all finished, and shut the book with a satisfied _snap_. “That must be what the dog is hiding! I bet Flamel asked Dumbledore to keep it safe, since they’re friends and all, and it was safer here than the vault!”  
  
    “A stone that makes gold and stops you dying is something anyone would want,” said Hannah, and shuddered. “No wonder Snape wants it.”  
  
    “And no wonder we couldn’t find him in any recent books,” Neville sighed. “Now we just have to figure out what to _do_.”  
  
  
    This was easier said than done. Harry had decided to brave the Quidditch match anyway, but as the date drew ever closer, grew increasingly nervous. He kept running into Snape everywhere, which in turn seemed to be making the Potions Master more and more irritable. Dudley, meanwhile, felt like a new person. His meditation was already yielding results - his memory had improved, and he was able, for once, to work on a potion without having to consult the recipe every two seconds. To his surprise, his outburst and newfound clearheadedness seemed to have fixed his inability to cast spells. His magic still wasn't strong, but he doubted it ever would be, and by now he had the wand movements and incantations down pat. When he put them to the test on a snuffbox, he was both pleased and surprised when it turned into a sneaker, complete with laces. He began to apply himself to the practical portions of his classes with more enthusiasm, to his teachers' pleasure, though they cautioned him not to strain himself. Dudley was almost too relieved by tangible proof he had magic to listen.  
  
    One of the first things he’d done when classes had started back up was show Professor Flitwick the silver box from Christmas, and ask whether it was safe to hold things like Potions supplies in it. At the moment, he was keeping his Potions supplies in a shoebox when they weren’t stuffed haphazardly into his bag, and the shoebox was running out of room. “Well,” Flitwick said cheerily, handing the box back, “I don’t see a problem with it. There’s another spell on it - like most trunks, in fact - that you can activate to shape the insides to, say, create compartments for ingredients, and I can apply another to keep them fresh. I must say, Mr. Dursley, it is so good to see students treating their belongings with respect-” And he walked Dudley through customizing the box. It only took a few minutes, and by the time they were done, there was even plush velvet lining in the compartment for phials.  
  
    Snape’s expression when he saw Dudley using the box in class for the first time was as stony as ever, but he thought he saw a flicker of approval on that stern face.  
  
  
    The day of the match, Harry looked dangerously close to passing out when they wished him good luck outside the locker rooms. Dudley had the distinct feeling that the others were wondering if Harry would survive the match at all, and made a point of being encouraging. As they made their way to the stands, Hermione reminded them all of the plan.  
  
    “If he tries to curse Harry, don’t hesitate to fire,” she said grimly, with the airs of a tiny general. “And it’s Locomotor Mortis, don’t forget.”  
  
    “Don’t nag,” Ron snapped, but there was no heat to it; he was just as worried as any of them.  
  
    “Will we even be able to reach Snape from our seats?” Neville wondered, wringing his hands. “What if we can’t?”  
  
    “Then I’ll run down and nab him,” Hannah promised, patting his arm. “Don’t fret, Nev. Snape doesn’t stand a chance.”  
  
    They took their place in the stands, and Dudley, scanning the crowd, noted something interesting. “’Mione, Dumbledore’s come to watch!”  
  
    She followed his gaze, and as soon as she spotted the old wizard, bounced in excitement. “Oh, this is wonderful! No one could ever try anything with him watching!”  
  
    “I’ve never seen Snape look so sour,” said Ron admiringly. “And hey, look, they’re off- ouch!”  
  
    Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was, of course, Malfoy.  
  
    “Wonder how long Potter’s going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?”  
  
    There was a groan from the surrounding Gryffindors as Snape awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who was anxiously watching in case someone _did_ try something with Dumbledore present, ignored everyone, all her fingers crossed in her lap. Dudley tried to convince the others with a look that they needed to take a leaf from her book and ignore Malfoy, and Ron nodded at him before turning his eyes back to the pitch. Up above, Harry circled the game like a hawk, already watching for the Snitch.  
  
    A few minutes later, as Snape awarded another penalty to Hufflepuff for no reason at all and the Gryffindors cried out indignantly, Malfoy said loudly, “You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team? It’s people they feel sorry for. See, there’s Potter, who’s got no parents, then there’s the Weasleys, who’ve got no money - pity you’re not in Gryffindor, Longbottom, you’ve got no brains.”  
  
    Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face the smirking Malfoy. “I’m worth twelve of you, Malfoy,” he stammered. The Slytherins howled with laughter, and he went even redder.  
  
    “Tell him, Neville,” Hannah said, squeezing his arm, though she didn’t dare take her eyes from the game.  
  
    “Longbottom, if brains were gold you’d be poorer than Weasley, and that’s saying something.”  
  
    “Malfoy,” said Dudley warningly, but didn’t get to finish, because Hermione shrieked.  
  
    “Look!” she cried. “Harry-!” She jammed her fingers in her mouth, jumping up and bouncing anxiously.  
  
    Harry had gone into a sharp, spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. He wound expertly past bludgers and players alike, streaking toward the ground like a rocket.  
  
    “You’re in luck, Weasley, Potter’s obviously spotted some money on the ground!” said Malfoy.  
  
    Without warning, Hannah launched herself over the seats, uttering a war cry as she tackled the blond to the ground. Ron joined in with a similar howl, launching himself at Crabbe when the larger boy got in his way. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help. Dudley groaned and went to join them.  
  
    “Come on, Harry!” Hermione screamed, leaping up onto her seat as Hannah and Malfoy rolled under it, biting and kicking and pulling each other’s hair. She was utterly oblivious to the fighting as she watched Harry speed straight at Snape.  
  
    A scarlet blur swept past the Potions Master, missing by inches, the wind ruffling his greasy hair, and then Harry pulled out of the dive and raised his arm, and the stands erupted with noise. “We’ve won!” Hermione crowed, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil, who was just as excited, if a little confused. “Gryffindor is in the lead! Harry did it!”  
  
    Behind her, Malfoy and his goons found themselves thoroughly trounced, and it was only a moment later that Ron, nose bleeding, flung himself over the back of the seats to join in the cheering. Neville, gasping and sporting the beginnings of a black eye, helped a bruised but victorious Hannah to her feet, and Dudley watched the Slytherins retreat with their tails between their legs. _Well,_ he thought to himself, _I guess it’s a start._ But he pushed it from his mind as the Gryffindors swept the first years up and poured down onto the field to congratulate the winning team.  
  
  
    “Harry, where have you been!” Hermione squeaked, hours later. They’d retired once again to the unused classroom to wait for Harry, so they could celebrate before having to go to their separate Houses, but Harry had taken an inordinate amount of time. When  he turned up at the door, they’d been on the verge of sending out a search party.  
  
    Before Harry could get a word in edgewise, Ron was upon him. “We won! You won! We won!” he shouted, thumping Harry on the back. “Hannah destroyed Malfoy, and Nev and Dud and I took down Crabbe and Goyle like they were _nothing_!” Which wasn’t _quite_ true. “Talk about showing Slytherin! Fred and George stole a bunch of cakes and things from the kitchens, so there’s a great party waiting too.”  
  
    “Nevermind that,” said Harry breathlessly, reaching back to shut and lock the door. “Wait til you hear this!”  
  
    And he described following Snape into the forest. Dudley listened with growing unease as Harry related the conversation. No matter how he looked at it, Snape definitely sounded like he was the thief. “So we were right,” Harry said finally, beside himself with excitement and nervous energy, “it is the Sorcerer’s Stone, and Snape’s trying to force Quirrel to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy - and he said something about Quirrel’s ‘hocus pocus’ - I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrel would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through-”  
  
    “So the Stone’s only safe as long as Quirrel stands up to Snape?” said Hannah in alarm.  
  
    “It’ll be gone by next Tuesday,” moaned Ron.  
  
  
    It was decided that they needed to build up their spells, so they could go after Snape with everything they had. Hermione, Neville, and Dudley were designated researchers, while the others kept a careful eye on Quirrel and Snape. The Defense teacher appeared to be braver than they’d thought, however, because while he definitely grew paler and thinner in the weeks that followed, he didn’t seem to have cracked yet. The watchers, as Hannah, Harry, and Ron dubbed themselves, would press their ears against the door to the third-floor corridor whenever they passed, just to make sure Fluffy was still growling inside. They also tried to keep Quirrel’s spirits up by giving him encouraging looks when they passed and telling people off for laughing at his stutter.  
  
    Hermione, on the other hand, had more on her mind than the Sorcerer’s Stone. In her free time, she had started drawing up study schedules and colorcoding all her notes. She pressured Neville and Dudley to do the same - they quickly caved, knowing better than to resist, and it made things easier anyway - and then she turned a gimlet eye upon the other half of their little group.  
  
    “Hermione, why are you getting so worked up?” Hannah moaned, sprawling bonelessly on one of the library chairs. “Exams are _ages_ away.”  
  
    “Ten weeks,” Hermione snapped. “That’s not ages, that’s like a second to Nicholas Flamel.”  
  
    “But we’re not six hundred years old,” Ron reminded her from the floor, voice somewhat muffled. He was half-buried in books, because he’d laid down within range of Neville, who, in a fit of utter boredom, had begun to see how many books could be balanced on the redhead. Ron had been too tired to care much. “Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know everything.”  
  
    “What am I studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They’re very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don’t know what’s gotten into me...”  
  
    But there wasn’t much room for Ron to argue, because their teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Hermione and gave them mountains of homework. The six ended up in the library for most of the Easter holidays, and Dudley soon felt like the only reprieve from studying he had were his monthly visits with Dumbledore. He looked forward to those, partly because the old wizard was an excellent listener, and partly because, unlike Hermione, had no interest in making him recite facts or practice spells. Dudley once jokingly said as much during a session, and Dumbledore had got an amused, dangerous gleam to his eye that made him suspect he’d made a grave mistake.  
  
  
    “I’ll never remember all this,” Harry groaned one afternoon, throwing his quill down and staring longingly out the window. Ron, in complete agreement, did the same. It was the first really lovely day they’d had in months - the sky was clear and blue, and there was a distinctly summery feel to the air. Their friends were out in the greenhouses because Neville had recruited them to help him with extra Herbology work, but he hadn’t needed all of them, more’s the pity. Dudley, who was trying to find the entry on dittany in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and was starting to wonder whether someone had torn it out, didn’t look up until he heard his cousin say, “Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?”  
  
    Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back and looking very out of place in his moleskin overcoat. He also looked incredibly nervous, and immediately piqued their interest when he said in a shifty voice, “Jus’ lookin’. An’ what’re you lot up ter?” He eyed them, suddenly suspicious. “Yer not still lookin’ for Nicholas Flamel, are yeh?”  
  
    Ron shook his head. “We found out about him ages ago, and we know what Fluffy’s guarding, that it’s a Sorcerer’s-”  
  
    The giant immediately shushed him, looking around to see if anyone was listening. They weren’t - this corner of the library was deserted. “Don’ go shoutin’ about it, what’s the matter with yeh?”  
  
    Harry looked chagrined, but pressed on. “There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact, about what else is guarding it.”  
  
    Hagrid gestured at him to quiet down, looking around again, then said, “Listen - come an’ see me later. I’m not promisin’ I’ll tell yeh anythin’, mind, but don’ go rabbitin’ about it in here, students aren’ s’pposed ter know. They’ll think I’ve told yeh-”  
  
    “See you later, then,” said Dudley, and then, as Hagrid shuffled off, “What d’you think he was hiding just now?”  
  
    “Dunno. I’ll go see what section he was in,” Harry said, and disappeared into the stacks. He came back a moment later with a couple of books in hand, and set them gingerly on the table. “Dragons!” he whispered. “Look at these - Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland, and then From Egg to Inferno, a Dragon Keeper’s guide! He must be raising one!”  
  
    Ron, who’d been tilting his chair back, let it fall forward with a thud, face going white under his freckles. “But it’s against our laws,” he said, and continued with all the confidence of one whose brother was in the industry, “Breeding dragons was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It’s hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we’re keeping dragons in the back garden - anyway, you can’t tame dragons, it’s dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie’s got off wild ones in Romania.”  
  
    "But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" said Harry.  
  
    "Of course there are," said Ron. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."  
  
    Dudley shuddered, then said, “Well, if that’s what Hagrid’s up to, there’s only one way to find out.”  
  
    An hour later, still minus Neville and the girls, they knocked on the gamekeeper’s door, noticing as they did that all the curtains were closed. They shared a glance as Hagrid called “Who is it?” before he let them in, and as soon as they’d crossed the threshold, he shut and latched the door behind them.  
  
    The hut was disgustingly hot inside, with a blazing fire on the hearth despite the day’s heat, and when Hagrid offered them tea and stoat sandwiches, they refused, and did their best to find the coolest parts of the hut. “So,” said Hagrid, reaching out with a poker to prod at the fire, “yeh wanted to ask me somethin’?”  
  
    “Yes,” said Harry as he tried to get comfortable on the barrel he had chosen to perch on. “We hoped you could tell us what else is protecting the Stone, aside from Fluffy.”  
  
    Hagrid frowned. “O’ course I can’t,” he said. “Number one, I don’ know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn’ tell yeh if I could. The Stone’s here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts - I s’ppose yeh’ve worked that out an’ all? Beats me how yeh even know abou’ Fluffy.”  
  
    Thinking fast, Dudley said, “Oh, go on, Hagrid, you might not want to say, but you do know. You know everything that goes on round here.” He smiled, thinking of all the flattering he’d done at the magazines in order to be given particular stories ahead of such-and-such person. “We’re only curious - we just wanted to know who Dumbledore trusted enough to help him, apart from you. Anyone like that’s worth knowing about, isn’t it?” The other boys were nodding in enthusiastic agreement, and while he was certain one of the girls or Neville could have done it better, Hagrid still beamed at them.  
  
    “Well, I don’ s’ppose it could hurt to tell yeh that,” he said, and stroked his beard as he thought. “Let’s see... he borrowed Fluffy from me... then some o’ the teachers did enchantments. Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, naturally,” he ticked them off on his fingers, “Professor Quirrel, an’ Professor Dumbledore himself did somethin’, o’ course. Hang on, I’ve forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape.”  
  
    “Snape?” Ron asked, incredulous.  
  
    “Yeah - yer not still on abou’ that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the stone, he’s not about ter steal it.”  
  
    Dudley suspected he knew what his companions were thinking. If Snape had helped protect the Stone, then it meant he knew how to get past the other enchantments - except, apparently, how to get past Hagrid and Quirrel’s protections. Sure enough, Harry asked, anxiously, “You’re the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren’t you, Hagrid? And you wouldn’t tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?”  
  
    Hagrid puffed up his chest proudly. “Not a soul knows except me an’ Dumbledore.”  
  
    They all relaxed, and Dudley, feeling it time to change the subject, said, “Hagrid, can we have a window open? I’m boiling.”  
  
    “Can’t, sorry,” said Hagrid, and glanced at the fire.  
  
    And then, as one, they really looked at the fire for the first time. Dudley heard one of the others ask what it was, but they knew. As Hagrid stammered, Ron crouched beside the fire to have a look.  
  
    “Must’ve cost you a fortune!” he said, looking as if he wanted to poke the huge black egg. “Where in Merlin’s name did you get it?”  
  
    “Won it,” said Hagrid. “Las’ night. I was down in the village havin’ a few drinks an’ got into a game o’ cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.”  
  
    Despite the heat, a chill crept down Dudley’s spine, perhaps aided by sweat. Hagrid gushed about the egg - a Norwegian Ridgeback - and pulled a book out from under his pillow to show them. They tried to remind the giant of how dangerous and illegal it was, but he paid them no mind, and they returned to the castle in defeat. Dudley wondered, vaguely, at what point he should start informing Dumbledore about what they were doing.  
  
    Some time later, during breakfast, Hedwig brought Harry a letter from Hagrid containing only two words: It’s hatching.  
  
    Ron and Hannah wanted to skip class and go straight down to the hut, but Hermione put her foot down and refused to budge, not even when they began to wheedle her. “Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?” Ron whispered, practically whining.  
  
    “Ronald, your brother _works_ with dragons,” Hermione replied with a delicate sniff. “I’m sure something could be arranged. And anyway, we’ve got lessons and we’ll get into trouble, and that’s _nothing_ to what Hagrid will be in if someone finds out what he’s doing-”  
  
    “Shut up!” Harry whispered. Malfoy was only a few feet away and he had stopped dead to listen. Hannah turned a fierce glare on him now, and he wisely retreated, but they all wondered exactly how much he’d heard.  
  
    They parted ways for class, but managed to agree to run down to Hagrid’s during morning break. Hannah was distracted all through Magical Theory, not even bothering to take notes, and as soon as the bell rang for the end of class, she half-dragged Neville and Dudley out of the castle. They met up with the others near the greenhouses, and Hagrid greeted them when they arrived, looking flushed and excited.  
  
    “It’s nearly out,” he said brightly, and ushered them inside.  
  
    The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it, and inside, something was moving around. A funny clicking noise issued from it, occasionally interrupted by a sort of chirping. Everyone drew close and watched with bated breath.  
  
    When it happened, it was very sudden. There was a scraping noise, and the egg split right open to allow the baby dragon to flop gracelessly out. It wasn’t very pretty, and looked a little like a crumpled black umbrella. It had a skinny body, and its leathery, spine-tipped wings seemed much too large for it. The long muzzle had wide nostrils, which smoked gently, and it had bulging orange eyes. There were little stubs on its face where horns would eventually grow, and it seemed like it hadn’t quite developed scales yet. It sneezed, and a couple sparks flew out of its snout.  
  
    Hagrid was utterly besotted. “Isn’t he beautiful?” he murmured, and reached out a hand to stroke the dragon’s head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.  
  
    “Hagrid,” said Hermione, edging back from the table, “how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?”  
  
    Dudley saw it the same moment Hagrid did - a pale, pointed face in the window, eyes wide, that disappeared the moment it was spotted. Hagrid leapt to his feet and ran over to look, but Malfoy was gone.  
  
    The six spent much of the next week at Hagrid’s hut, trying to convince him that he couldn’t keep the little dragon, whom he’d named Norbert. They grew more frustrated by the day, until finally, Hannah lit upon the idea to send Norbert to Ron’s brother. She and Neville helped Ron draft a letter to Charlie, and another tense week went by before they got their answer. They met in the unused classroom to read it, crowding together to do so:  
  
                        Dear Ron,  
                        How are you? Thanks for the letter - I'd be glad to take the Norwegian  
                        Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing  
                        will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to  
                        visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon.  
                        Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on  
                        Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark.  
                        Send me an answer as soon as possible.  
                        Love,  
                        Charlie  
  
    They looked at one another.  
  
    “We’ve got the invisibility cloak,” said Harry. “It shouldn’t be too difficult - I think the cloak is big enough to cover two of us and Norbert. The question is, who’ll go?”  
  
    It was obvious that Harry would, since it was his cloak. Ron wanted to as well, but that Friday, Norbert bit him, and by Saturday morning, his hand had swollen up to twice its usual size. He dithered the whole day, not sure if Madam Pomfrey would recognize it as a dragon bite, but by afternoon it was utterly horrible, and he relented. After classes, the others trooped up to visit him, and found him in a terrible state.  
  
    “It’s not just my hand,” he told them in pained whispers, “though it feels like it’s about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what bit me - I’ve told her it was a dog, though I don’t think she believes me. But it’s worse, I’ve just realized -  Charlie’s letter was in that book Malfoy took, he’s going to know everything!”  
  
    There was little to be done about that, though, and Hannah stepped up to take Ron’s place for the delivery. It was decided that Harry would pick her up outside the Hufflepuff common room, and everyone went their separate ways for the night.  
  
    Dudley, however, found himself unable to sleep, and lay in bed tossing and turning. He had a feeling that Malfoy was going to try something - no, he _knew_ it - and finally, about the time Harry and Hannah were supposed to be at Hagrid’s, he got quietly out of bed, put on his bathrobe, and snuck out.


	11. The Forbidden Forest

** CHAPTER TEN **

  
  
    Dudley caught up to Harry and Hannah surprisingly easily, for all that they were invisible.  
  
    By the time he found them, they were huffing and puffing and hauling a crate of baby dragon down a long stretch of hallway towards the stairs to the astronomy tower. He kept a careful distance behind them and stuck to the shadows, since he wasn’t invisible as they were, and wished the entire time that they were being a little more quiet and careful. It was tempting to step forward and help, but the cloak wouldn’t be enough to cover him and if someone did come by it would be extremely suspicious.  
  
    They reached the corridor just beneath the tallest tower without incident, and then there was movement up ahead. Harry and Hannah immediately went silent, and Dudley ducked into an alcove that was partially covered by a suit of armor. He watched through the cracks as a lamp flared, and could just make out Professor McGonagall in a tartan bathrobe and hair net. She had Malfoy by the ear, and looked absolutely thunderous.  
  
    “Detention!” she shouted. “And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you-”  
  
    Malfoy winced, and protested, “You don’t understand, Professor! Harry Potter’s coming - he’s got a dragon!”  
  
    “What utter rubbish!” said McGonagall, and hauled him away. “I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!”  
  
    When they had gone, the invisible first years crept out to the spiral staircase and began to ascend. Dudley, sure that nothing awaited them but Charlie’s friends at the top of the tower, decided to settle in until they returned. He’d be able to fit under the cloak for the return trip, and he doubted they’d mind. He hadn’t been waiting long, however, when Filch poked his head into the corridor. Dudley went very still, and thought very carefully about Not Being There. Mrs. Norris, thankfully, was nowhere in sight, and Filch didn’t think to check behind the armor. He’d leave soon enough, and that would be that.  
  
    Except it wasn’t, and minutes later, Hannah and Harry came down the stairs, looking cheerful, and by the time they realized they’d forgotten the invisibility cloak, it was too late. They left with Filch, drooping, and as soon as they were out of sight, Dudley hurried up the tower. It was a lovely night, with clear skies, and if Dudley squinted he could just barely make out a dark shape he thought might be Charlie’s friends. He cast about for a sign of the cloak, and eventually spotted it crumpled near the wall. “At least it didn’t accidentally go with Norbert,” he muttered, and picked it up.  
  
    He descended the stairs, folding the cloak as he went. It was unlikely that anyone else would be out this late at night, especially now that Filch and McGonagall both were occupied, and while he’d be careful, he doubted the cloak was needed. It was carefully tucked inside his bathrobe, and he made his way through the castle, sticking carefully to the shadows.  
  
    His luck didn’t hold, because what he hadn’t known was that McGonagall’s office was on the first floor, and that his route would take him right past it. He also hadn’t known that a certain cat would be lurking and trip him just as he neared it, nor that Filch would open the door and spot him. And so it was that he joined his friends - and Malfoy - in McGonagall’s office. He thought he could see a nerve throbbing in her temple.  
  
    “Dursley,” she said, sounding as though she were trying incredibly hard to keep her temper in check, “I hope I won’t see the rest of you tonight.”  
  
    “No, Professor,” Dudley said politely. “Just us.”  
  
    She regarded them all coldy. “I would never have believed it of any of you,” she said. “Abbott, Potter, Mr. Filch says you were up in the astronomy tower. It’s one o’clock in the morning. Explain yourselves.”  
  
    Hannah folded her arms and looked away, face bright red with embarrassment, and Harry shuffled awkwardly from one foot to the other. Neither seemed capable of coming up with a suitable answer. McGonagall turned to Dudley, and he heaved a sigh.  
  
    “It was my idea, Professor,” he lied. His friends stared at him, and so did Malfoy, mouth agape. The Professor raised an eyebrow, and Dudley scuffed his toe. “I wanted to prank Malfoy, y’see. He just wouldn’t leave us alone, and I thought that if we embarrassed him enough, he’d back off. So we pretended to have a dragon, and made sure he’d overhear it and go to stop us. I talked Harry and Hannah into going to give him a scare, too, maybe, we hadn’t decided.” He shrugged, looking down at his slippers. “I thought it was taking too long, so I came out to see and got myself caught. But none of the others knew about the sneaking out bit.”  
  
    He risked a glance at McGonagall’s face. She looked about ready to burst with anger. “I’m disgusted,” she said after a long, tense moment. “I would have thought you’d have more sense, all of you! Detentions - yes, you too, Mr. Malfoy - and I’ll be taking fifty points from each of your Houses.” She was breathing heavily through her long, pointed nose. Harry and Malfoy opened their mouths to protest, but immediately shut them again at a glare from her. “It’s fortunate for you that Mr. Dursley was so forthcoming. Get back to bed, all of you.”  
  
    No one regarded them very kindly the next day. Fifty points was just enough to knock Gryffindor’s lead, and put it on the same level as Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Almost immediately, too, the other houses began to retake points, and by the end of the day, almost all of Gryffindor was shunning Harry. Dudley snuck Harry’s cloak into his school bag over dinner, and assured him and Hannah that it could’ve been much worse.  
  
    “Imagine you’d been caught with Norbert,” he pointed out, and they had to agree.  
  
  
        A week before exams, Harry burst into the library with bad news. “It’s happened!” he hissed, with a wary look at Madam Pince. Seeing that the librarian was absorbed in her work, he continued, “Snape’s finally done it!”  
  
    “There’s still Fluffy,” Hermione said, but she sounded worried.  
  
    “Maybe Snape’s figured that out too,” Hannah said, frowning. “I’m sure that if you knew what to look for-”  
  
    “What do we do?” Neville moaned.  
  
    There was a moment of silence as they considered their options. The light of adventure had just begun to kindle in Ron’s eyes when Hermione said, “Go to Dumbledore. That’s what we should’ve done ages ago.”  
  
    “But we’ve got no proof,” said Hannah. “Quirrel’s too scared to back us up. Snape’s only got to play innocent, and everyone knows we hate him - Dumbledore’ll think we made it up to get him sacked. Filch wouldn’t help us if his life depended on it, he hates students. And we’re not even supposed to know about any of this, so it’d take a lot of explaining and we’d probably lose every point our Houses have got.”  
  
    Ron opened his mouth, but Harry, who’d been on the receiving end of a number of fierce lectures on losing points by nearly everyone in Gryffindor and had reconsidered this investigation business, said, “We’ve done enough poking around. We’ll just - have to let the teachers handle it, I guess.” He pulled a map of Jupiter toward him and carefully studied it, and after a moment, the rest of them settled in to work on their own homework.  
  
  
    The following morning, notes were delivered to Harry, Hannah, and Dudley at the breakfast table. They were all the same:  
  
                        Your detention will take place at eleven o’clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.  
                        Professor McGonagall  
  
    Dudley had forgotten all about the detentions, since he’d been devoting most of his time to studying, and from the look of it, so had his friends. But none of them complained, and at eleven o’clock that night, met up in the entrance hall, where Filch was waiting with Malfoy. The blond boy pointedly did not look at them.  
  
    “Follow me,” said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside. “I bet you’ll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won’t you, eh?” He leered at them, and began to wax poetic about torture. Dudley wasn’t listening. All he could think about was that they were outside, and once they started moving, that they were headed for a very specific location.  
  
    The moon was bright overhead, almost unnaturally so, but the passing clouds kept throwing them into darkness. They approached Hagrid’s hut with some apprehension, especially considering Filch was nearly beside himself with glee.  
  
    “Is that you, Filch?” Hagrid called. “Hurry up, I want ter get started.”  
  
    And relief must have shown on someone’s face, because that was when Filch informed them, very cheerfully, that they would be serving detention in the forest.  
  
    Dudley absently toyed with his wand as the others talked. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something had him feeling on edge. It wasn’t quite fear, nor even a proper sense of forboding. He hardly noticed as Hagrid split them into groups, putting Malfoy with Harry and Fang, taking Hannah and Dudley himself, and it took nearly walking into a treet to snap out of it.  
  
    “All righ’, Dudley?” Hagrid asked as he righted himself.  
  
    “Could be worse,” Dudley said. “What’re we after, again?”  
  
    “Weren’t yeh listening?” the giant cried, sounding exasperated, and pointed out a silvery liquid on the ground. “Unicorn blood. We’re tryin’ teh find the poor thing.”  
  
    Frowning, Dudley fell into step behind Hannah, who was thrumming with an emotion somewhere between fear and excitement. Her pigtails swished back and forth like a pendulum, the moonlight turning the blonde hair into a silvery blur, and, suspecting it might help, Dudley allowed himself to be lulled into something of a trance. As he walked on autopilot, he attempted, for the first time since the previous summer, to sense magic - only this time, he did it with his eyes open.  
  
    At first, nothing much happened. But the more he relaxed, the more shimmering lights crept into his line of sight, and Dudley quickly realized he had no idea what he was looking for. I’ll know it when I see it, he thought to himself, but the magic was so tangled he wasn’t sure if he actually would.  
  
    They ran across two centaurs, Ronan and Bane, and Dudley only listened with half an ear as they drove Hagrid up the wall with their vague answers. It was as he was peering around that he noticed something strange. The thing about the magic in the forest was that it all seemed to wind together properly, even the darker bits. There was a pattern, almost like a spiderweb, that seemed to lay over everything. But now that he looked, there was an anomaly - a thread that didn’t fit into the weave, an intruder. He didn’t notice Hagrid and Hannah leave, instead taking his own path. He knew, somehow, that he was following the creature responsible for the injured unicorns, and Dudley also had the feeling that if he touched the thread of magic it left, it would know he was there and would probably kill him. He therefore gave the thread a wide berth.  
  
    By the time he stopped and took stock of his surroundings, Dudley wound up snapping entirely out of his trance, because he realized immediately that he had no idea where he was. He grimaced, then tried to fall back into the pattern, but it was too late. With an annoyed huff, he took out his wand and was about to send up some kind of signal, he wasn’t sure what, when voices drifted through the trees.  
  
    “-Potter,” one of them sneered, voice oddly tinny, as if it was an echo. “And when my father hears - what was that?”  
  
    Dudley stepped out onto the path, and Malfoy and Harry stared at him in consternation. “Dudley? I thought you were with Hagrid,” Harry said.  
  
    “I got a little lost,” Dudley admitted. Fang eased close to him and whined, and Dudley obligingly scratched his ears. “How’re we supposed to signal? I didn’t hear earlier.”  
  
    “Sparks,” said Harry, glancing past him - and froze. “Look-” he murmured. Dudley turned to see, and Malfoy craned his neck. Just ahead, lying in a clearing, something white was gleaming on the ground. They all inched forward for a better look.  
  
    It was the unicorn, and it was definitely dead. The long, slender limbs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen, and the pearly-white mane was tangled in the dark leaves. They stared at it in silence, mournful, and Harry had just stepped forward when they heard a slithering sound. Dudley threw an arm out to stop him, and as they watched, a bush on the edge of the clearing quivered. A hooded figure slowly emerged from the foliage, crawling hand over hand across the ground in a strangely lizard-like motion. It reached the unicorn and seemed to consider its prey for a moment before lowering its head to the wound in the animal’s side and beginning to drink.  
  
    “AAAAAAAAAARGH!”  
  
    Malfoy uttered a horrible scream and bolted. Fang did too, bowling Dudley over in the process, and the hooded figure raised its head. It looked straight at Harry, who was frozen in terror. Unicorn blood dribbled down the figure’s front as it got to its feet, and as it strode right at Harry, Dudley struggled up, swallowing down his fear.  
  
    “No you don’t,” he growled, and grabbed Harry by the robes. Before the figure could react, Dudley plunged into the trees, dragging his startled cousin behind him. Harry staggered, crying out in pain, and almost dragged Dudley down with him. Turning, the Hufflepuff scooped him up with all the ease of someone who’d carried children around for years, then, barely sparing a glance for the persuing figure, hurried off in a different direction.  
  
    Harry was, admittedly, a great deal heavier than a baby, especially now he’d gotten used to regular meals, and Dudley was, in truth, occupying the body of an overweight eleven year old. It wasn’t long before the only thing keeping him going was sheer determination and protective instinct.  
  
    It was a root that finally did him in.  
  
    He and Harry crashed to the ground in an ungraceful heap, and Dudley lay there stunned for a moment before pushing himself up on shaky arms and turning to face the direction he’d come. A breeze gently wound through the trees, but otherwise, the forest was eerily silent. Beside him, Harry got up with a groan, cringing and rubbing his head. “What was that?” he asked, voice strained.  
  
    “No idea,” Dudley panted, then thought to get out his wand. He shifted up onto his knees, but his legs felt like jelly, and he wasn’t sure if he could run like that again. “See anything?”  
  
    “No, nothing.” Harry had his wand out now too, and was squinting out into the darkness despite being obviously in pain.  
  
    They wouldn’t have seen the figure at all when it came, if it weren’t for the glistening unicorn blood down its front. “There!” Harry said through gritted teeth, hand trembling dangerously as he pointed his wand. Dudley brought up his own with a spell on his lips - he wasn’t sure which - but before they could make a move, they heard the sound of galloping hooves. Something charged into the clearing straight at the figure, which fled, and as Harry toppled to his knees in relief, Dudley finally remembered to raise his wand and fire red sparks into the air.  
  
    A centaur stepped up to him a few moments later, as Harry’s face began to clear of pain. He was younger than Ronan and Bane, with white-blond hair and a palomino body, and he looked kindly at Harry. “Are you all right?” he asked, offering a hand.  
  
    Harry accepted the help and got shakily to his feet, sharing a look with Dudley before answering. “Yes, thank you - what was that?”  
  
    The centaur didn’t answer. He studied Harry with astonishingly blue eyes, then said, “You are the Potter boy. You had best get back to Hagrid, the forest is not safe at this time.” He turned to Dudley, frowned a little as if puzzled, then said, “Come, I will guide you. My name is Firenze.”  
  
    He led them in silence after warning them to keep close, and patiently kept a pace they could manage. Once or twice, Dudley thought he caught a glimpse of other centaurs, but none came forward, and Firenze didn’t seem to notice. He seemed to have no interest in speaking to them, but eventually, he stopped and said, “Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?”  
  
    “No,” said Harry, startled. “We’ve only used the horn and tail hair in Potions.”  
  
    “That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn,” said Firenze. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."  
  
    Harry and Dudley stared at him. “But who would be desperate enough to do that?” Harry asked, frowning. “Wouldn’t death be better?”  
  
    “Yes,” Firenze agreed, “unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else that will bring you back to full strength and power, something that will give you immortality.” He turned his pale sapphire eyes upon the two boys. “Do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?”  
  
    Dudley’s blood ran cold. Harry, oblivious, said, “The Sorcerer’s Stone! But who-”  
  
    “Voldemort,” Dudley whispered, and his cousin turned to gawk at him. He watched the smaller boy’s face change as he worked through that in his mind. He looked at Firenze; the centaur nodded.  
  
    “Harry! Dudley! Are you all right?” Hannah burst through the trees with the energy of a small whirlwind, brandishing a large stick, with Hagrid puffing along behind her.  
  
    “We’re fine,” Harry croaked, sounding utterly unconvincing. “The unicorn’s dead, Hagrid, it’s in that clearing back there.” He pointed.  
  
    “This is where I leave you,” Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off. “You are safe now. Good luck, Harry Potter.” He leaned close to add something else, then turned to Dudley. “And you, Starless. The heavens have been read wrongly before, even by centaurs, but we have not seen you among them. I would caution you to be careful, and take great care where you tread.”  
  
    He turned and cantered back into the forest, leaving three confused children behind him.  
  
  
    Malfoy and Fang were waiting at Hagrid’s hut when they returned, both trembling with cold and fear. The blond looked ready to pass out with relief when he saw that all was well, and as they approached, Dudley called out, “All right, Malfoy?”  
  
    The boy jerked back in surprise, almost as if he’d been struck, then nodded hesitantly. “What was that thing?” Malfoy demanded, going for imperious but utterly failing.  
  
    “We’re not sure,” Dudley said, deciding not to panic him. They hadn’t said anything to Hagrid about it being Voldemort, and while they were going to tell Hannah, this wouldn’t be the best time for it. “But I think we scared it off for now. Or, well, the centaurs did.”  
  
    “In any case, yer detention’s over,” Hagrid said. “Migh’ as well get on up ter bed. I’ll walk yeh up ter the castle.” They went quietly, each lost in their own thoughts, and he dropped them off with a stern warning not to go wandering around. None of them were inclined to do so, however, and immediately split up to go to their separate Houses. Malfoy walked with Hannah and Dudley a short ways, then left silently for the dungeons when they reached the stairs.  
  
    “What was it really, Dud?” Hannah finally asked when they reached their destination, keeping her voice down as she tapped the correct barrel.  
  
    “We think Voldemort,” Dudley whispered, and went over everything Firenze had said to them as they curled up in armchairs in the common room. She listened attentively, and shuddered in horror as he finished.  
  
    “I’m glad I was with Hagrid,” she said, then frowned. “Why did you wander off, anyway?”  
  
    Dudley thought about how to explain, then said, “You know how I meditate? This time, I sort of... meditated while walking, and stretched out my senses so I could try and see magic.” He waited, but she only nodded. “I thought maybe it would help, y’know? And once I figured out the pattern the forest has, I saw what was wrong and sort of followed it.”  
  
    That surprised her. “Isn’t that pretty advanced magic?” she said, hugging her knees. “I mean, sensing magic is one thing - but being able to understand patterns... I thought you had to be trained for it.”  
  
    “I hadn’t thought about that. Maybe it’s just a focus thing? I know some people have trouble learning to meditate in the first place, for example.”  
  
    “Maybe,” Hannah conceded. “Have you tried it in the castle?”  
  
    He shook his head. “I’m kind of scared to,” he confessed. She nodded, sympathetic, then yawned and took herself off to bed.  
  
    Dudley stayed where he was, staring quietly into the fire. “Starless,” he murmured, testing it. “What does that mean?” He pondered it for a while, then resolved to ask Dumbledore next time he saw him, and finally went to bed.


	12. The Trapdoor

** CHAPTER ELEVEN **

  
  
  
    Exams week was absolutely horrific. For one thing, it was absolutely sweltering, especially in the large classroom where they did their written tests. For another, they were too busy studying to do anything about the Stone situation. They were given special new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an AntiCheating spell, and the feathers were already ragged from the heat and sweaty hands. There were practical exams too, and Dudley dreaded each one. Professor Flitwick called them in one by one to see if they could make a pineapple tapdance across a desk - Dudley managed something that looked more like the can-can than anything else, complete with high kicks from the pineapple’s fronds. Professor McGonagall had them turn a mouse into a snuffbox, giving points for style and taking them for leftover mouse bits. Dudley’s snuffbox had a tail, in the end, but it was at least painted to match the rest of it. Snape had them brewing Forgetfulness potions, and breathed down their necks the whole while, taking vicious satisfaction in every failure. And all throughout, Dudley’s vision swam, showing flashes of memory and hallucination as the heat and stress put him through his paces. Several times, during a practical, he would have to sit down and have some water and breathe for a moment before he could continue.  
  
    By the time they took their last exam - History of Magic - Dudley was utterly convinced he’d failed everything, with a possible exception of Potions. Fortunately, he wasn’t too concerned. The problem of Voldemort was much more prominent in his mind. Harry was having nightmares again, worse now, and the two of them were climbing the walls in frustration, because their four companions didn’t seem terribly concerned. They were scared, certainly, but Voldemort just didn’t seem real to them.  
  
    Dudley flung down his quill with a sigh as Professor Binns called the end of the exam, and everyone rolled up their parchment with a strong sense of relief. They had a whole week of freedom until their exam results came out, and now, at least, if something happened, then it would happen when they had nothing else to worry about.  
  
    “That was far easier than I thought it would be,” Hermione remarked as the six of them fled the castle in favor of the sunny grounds. “I needn’t have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager.”  
  
    “Oh, ‘Mione,” Hannah sighed, “you’d probably have read about it for fun anyway.”  
  
    They wandered down to the lake and collapsed in a heap under the tree to watch the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan tickle the tentacles of the giant squid basking in the warm shallows. “No more studying,” Ron sighed happily. “Cheer up Harry, we’ve a week til we find out how bad we’ve done.”  
  
    Harry, rubbing his forehead, burst out angrily, “I just wish I knew why my scar’s been hurting! It’s done it all week - and it’s never done it so often before!”  
  
    Hannah propped herself up on her elbows, grass sticking out of her hair, which was done up in a loose bun to keep it off her neck. “Go to Madam Pomfrey,” she suggested.  
  
    “I’m not ill,” said Harry, sighing in frustration. “I think - I think it’s a warning, that danger’s coming, maybe. And I keep feeling like I’m forgetting something important.”  
  
    Ron, too hot to get worked up, opened his mouth, but Dudley beat him to it. “You’re probably right. Maybe it’s something to do with the Stone?”  
  
    They all considered it with varying degrees of interest until Neville said, hesitantly, “Don’t you think it’s odd that what Hagrid wants most is a dragon, and someone just happens to turn up with one?”  
  
    Everyone went deathly still. They shared a glance. And immediately, they lunged to their feet and pelted towards Hagrid’s hut, black school robes fluttering behind them like the wings of blackbirds.  
  
    Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house, trousers and sleeves rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl. “Hullo!” he called, smiling broadly as they neared him. “Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?”  
  
    “Yes, please,” said Ron, but Harry cut him off.  
  
    “No, sorry, we’re in a hurry,” he breathed, and flapped a hand at Neville.  
  
    Looking a bit ill at being put on the spot, Neville took a deep breath of his own and said in a rush, “Hagrid, the night you won Norbert, what did the stranger you played with look like?”  
  
    “Dunno, he wouldn’t take his cloak off,” said Hagrid casually, and added, at their stunned expressions, “Yeh get a lot o’ funny folk in the Hog’s Head - the pub down in the village - it’s not that unusual. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn’ he? Never saw his face, he kept his hood up.”  
  
    Hannah picked up a pea pod and absently began to shred it. “Did you talk to him about Hogwarts at all?”  
  
    “Mighta come up.” Hagrid frowned as he tried to remember.  
  
    None of them were surprised, in the end, to learn that Hagrid had revealed the secret to this stranger. As soon as Hagrid said, “-jus’ play him a bit o’ music an’ he’ll go right off ter sleep-” Harry was off like a shot. Most of the others followed, but Dudley stayed behind to ask one final question.  
  
    “Hagrid,” he said, “what did this stranger sound like?”  
  
    The giant was taken aback by this question, and said, “Well, I dunno, sort of reedy-”  
  
    A burst of color and sound appeared at Dudley’s left, to his amazement. It was as if someone had torn a hole in the world, and there inside was the pub, though everything seemed muffled, like there was thick glass between the image and the real world. Inside was Hagrid, or another Hagrid anyway, and next to him was a thin, reedy man in a dark cloak. He kept his hood down, and though Dudley couldn’t understand what was being said, he heard the voice for himself. It didn’t sound a thing like Snape, but it was familiar enough to make him suspect that the man wasn’t using a spell on his voice. The image of Hagrid was completely sloshed, and it was a little startling when the real Hagrid said, “Yeh all right, Dudley?”  
  
    He snapped his head up and smiled grimly. “Yeah - thanks Hagrid.” The image had gone, and Dudley was a little relieved. He wasn’t sure if it had been real at all, or if it had only been his imagination, and didn’t particularly want to find out. He turned and legged it back to the castle in search of the others.  
  
    They were huddled on the steps when he found them, whispering furiously, and they immediately caught him up on what had happened. “I can’t believe you told McGonagall,” he groused when they had finished describing the encounter. “Listen, if Dumbledore’s gone, now of all times, don’t you think he’s setting a trap for our thief? When else would anyone dare try and get to the Stone?”  
  
    “One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape, then,” whispered Harry urgently. “Hermione, you’d better do that - wait outside the staff room and follow him if he leaves.”  
  
    “Why me?”  
  
    “Isn’t it obvious? You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick,” said Ron, and put on a high voice, batting his eyelashes. “‘Oh Professor Flitwick, I’m so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong...’”  
  
    “Oh, shut up,” said Hermione, elbowing him in the ribs, but she agreed to play lookout.  
  
    “And the rest of us had better hang around the third-floor corridor,” Harry told the others. “Play a game of cards or something.”  
  
    But that part of the plan didn’t work. No sooner had they reached the door to Fluffy than Professor McGonagall turned up again and this time, she lost her temper. “I suppose you think you’re harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!” she stormed. “Enough of this nonense! If I hear you’ve come anywhere near here again, I’ll take another fifty points from each of you!”  
  
    They trudged away, Hannah saying under her breath, “At least Hermione’s still out there.” No sooner had the words left her mouth, though, than they rounded the corner and found themselves swept along to the library by a breathless Hermione.  
  
    “I’m so sorry!” she wailed. “Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, so I said I was waiting for Flitwick, and he went to get him, and I’ve only just got away, I don’t know where Snape went.”  
  
    They huddled in an alcove, feeling the weight of despair. Finally, Harry squared his shoulders and said, “Well, that’s it then, isn’t it?” The others stared at him. He was shaking and his eyes were glittering, and there was a very stubborn expression on his face. “I’m going to try and get to the Stone first.”  
  
    “You’re mad!” Neville burst out. “You’ll get yourself expelled, if Snape doesn’t kill you!”  
  
    “So what!” Harry shouted, and they hushed him. He went on in a quieter voice, “Don’t you get it? If Snape gets the Stone, he’ll bring Voldemort back and there won’t be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He’ll flatten it or turn into some - some Dark Arts school! House points don’t matter anymore - d’you think he’ll leave you and your families alone if one of our Houses wins the Cup? Even if I get caught and sent home it’ll only be putting off dying til later, because I’ll never go to the Dark Side! I’m going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing any of you says is going to stop me.”  
  
    He glared at them.  
  
    Surprisingly, Neville was the first to recover himself. He reached out and gripped one of Harry’s hands, to the smaller boy’s surprise. “I’m going with you,” he said, face grim despite the tremor in his voice.  
  
    “I- what?” said Harry, surprised.  
  
    “You don’t seriously think we’d let you go alone, do you?” Ron asked, snorting, and Hannah scoffed, tossing her head.  
  
    “Harry, you can’t just charge in without backup,” she said, eyes gleaming.  
  
    “I’m in too,” said Hermione, and held up a hand to stifle Harry’s protests about them risking their own expulsion. “You said it yourself, if we fail, there won’t be a Hogwarts,” she pointed out. “And anyway, Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam. They’re not throwing me out after that.”  
  
    Dudley cleared his throat to get their attention, and when they looked at him, said, “The question now is how to get all six of us to the corridor without notice. The cloak can cover three of us, but that’s the limit.”  
  
    Hannah hummed thoughtfully, then said, “Hufflepuff is closer to the corridor than Gryffindor, and there’s more stuff to hide behind. We shouldn’t have any problem sneaking around. The stairs are the most dangerous bit, I think.”  
  
    “We can wait in one of the classrooms near the corridor, but do we have anything to make music with?” Dudley asked.  
  
    After a moment’s thought, Harry said, “Hagrid got me a flute for Christmas, I can bring that.”  
  
    “Can you play?” Neville asked curiously.  
  
    “No,” Harry admitted, “but it’s worth a try.”  
  
    “If it doesn’t work, I can sing,” Hannah volunteered. “I’m not very good, but I’ve put my baby cousins to sleep that way before.”  
  
    “Great,” said Ron. “Hope Fluffy isn’t picky about his music.”  
  
  
    The Hufflepuff common room seemed to take a million years to empty, but finally, the coast was clear, and Hannah, the quickest of the three, darted out first to make sure the coast was clear. She returned a few minutes later and gave them the okay, and the trio crept out into the dark corridor.  
  
    It was slow going to the third floor corridor, but they didn’t encounter any problems until they got to the final staircase. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip, and the Hufflepuffs ducked into a dark corner, wondering how they’d get past it. They still hadn’t found a solution five minutes later, when quiet shuffling alerted them to their approaching friends. A hand stuck out of the cloak and waved at them to stay put, then disappeared, and the shuffling continued up the stairs.  
  
    Peeves swiveled round as they climbed. “Who’s there?” Dudley heard him call. “Know you’re there, even if I can’t see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie? Should call Filch, I should, if something’s a-creeping around unseen.”  
  
    There was a moment of silence, and then someone said in a hoarse whisper, “Peeves, the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible.”  
  
    Peeves uttered a squeak, then babbled, “So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, Sir. My mistake, my mistake - I didn’t see you - of course I didn’t, you’re invisible - forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir.”  
  
    “I have business here, Peeves,” the speaker croaked. “Stay away from this place tonight.”  
  
    “I will, sir, I most certainly will. Hope your business goes well, Baron, I’ll not bother you.”  
  
    After a few long moments, the Hufflepuffs heard Hermione whisper, “It’s clear, come on!” and they hurried up the stairs, keeping to the shadows just in case.  
  
    A few seconds later, the group turned the corner and found themselves outside the corridor - and found the door already ajar.  
  
    “Well, there you are,” Harry said quietly in disgust, folding the cloak. “Snape’s already got past Fluffy.”  
  
    They all considered the door, but before Harry could offer them the chance to go back, Hannah crept towards it and peeked inside. Immediately, there was a loud growling, and she launched without hesitation into a soft, crooning lullaby. The growls subsided, and she beckoned them on.  
  
    “No need for the flute, I guess,” Hermione said as they watched the dog slump to the ground, fast asleep. “Keep it up, Hannah.” The blond girl nodded.  
  
    “Looks like Snape used a harp,” Ron murmured. “I bet the dog wakes up the minute you stop.”  
  
    They crept to the trapdoor, stepping gingerly over the dog’s legs. Hannah faltered as she finished the song and tried desperately for another one, and the dog growled, beginning to stir. Hastily, she sang out some warbly nonsense, and Fluffy settled. Sweat was beginning to form on the girl’s brow. Harry and Ron pulled on the ring of the heavy trapdoor, which swung open with hardly a squeak.  
  
    “What can you see?” Dudley asked, not really daring to take his eyes off Fluffy’s sleeping form. He prayed he wouldn’t have to take over for Hannah, who was sounding a little strained - he was practically tone deaf.  
  
    “Nothing - just black - there’s no way of climbing down, we’ll just have to drop,” Ron reported.  
  
    “Nothing to it, then,” said Harry, and braced himself, then lowered himself through the trapdoor. When he was still hanging on with his fingertips, he looked up at them and said, “One of us needs to go for help, just in case this goes badly.”  
  
    “I’ll go,” Hannah sang, struggling to keep tune. “I’m the fastest, and I need to stay up here to sing. Just get the Stone!”  
  
    “Right,” said Harry, and let go. It seemed a long, long time until they heard him call faintly, “It’s okay! It’s a soft landing, you can jump!”  
  
    Ron climbed through, followed by Hermione, and Dudley ushered Neville in before turning to Hannah, whose voice was faltering. “Run right out and tell the portraits before you go find a teacher, they’ll get the message passed around more quickly,” he said, and patted her shoulder when she nodded. “Good luck, be careful.” He carefully jumped through, sucking in a breath as cold, damp air rushed past him. He was just starting to wonder just how good an idea this was when he found himself entering a bright light and hitting something with a muffled thump. His head bounced hard off of something, making him yelp.  
  
    He looked up at Hermione, blinking watering eyes against the bluebell flame flickering on her wand, and she offered him a hand. “Hurry and get up, that’s a Devil’s Snare,” she said. “Neville figured it out as soon as he landed.”  
  
    Dudley gratefully got to his feet, and the group made their way down the stone passageway that was the only way forward. The hall sloped downward, and all they could hear aside from their footsteps was the gentle trickling of water somewhere nearby. “I hope Hannah made it out okay,” Hermione murmured.  
  
    “I’m sure she’s fine,” Harry started to say, but Ron shushed them.  
  
    “Can you hear that?” he whispered, and they all listened carefully. A soft rustling and clinking was echoing down the passage towards them, and if they squinted, they could see light ahead.  
  
    They cautiously walked to the end of the passageway and found themselves in a brightly lit chamber with a ceiling that arched high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling about the room, and on the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.  
  
    “Do you think they’ll attack us if we cross the room?” said Ron.  
  
    But they didn’t, and when the door proved to be very thoroughly locked, they turned their attention to the birds. After a few moments, Harry cried, “They’re keys! I bet you anything we have to catch the key to the door!”  
  
    Ron turned to study the lock. “Then we probably need a big, old-fashioned one - I bet it’s silver like the handle.”  
  
    They found broomsticks tucked to one side of the room, and Neville and Dudley elected to remain by the door, since neither was very good at flying. They watched their friends anxiously as the trio lifted into the air, half-expecting them to get swarmed. But the keys evaded every attempt to grab them, darted and diving, as if they didn’t particularly care about the children. Harry wasn’t the youngest Seeker in a century for nothing, though. After a tense minute of searching, he suddenly sped forward, twisting around as he chased a key with a damaged wing. It sped toward the wall, and Harry pinned it with a sickening crunch.  
  
    He and the other Gryffindors returned to the ground, setting their brooms aside, and as they stepped toward the door, there was a loud, angry buzzing. Dudley looked up and groaned. “ _Now_ they swarm,” he said.  
  
    “Unlock the door, quick!” Hermione cried, and Harry scrabbled at the lock before finally slotting the key in and jerking the door open. They hurried through, pulling the door shut behind them, and heard the sound of hundreds of keys hammering against the wood. They shared a look, then turned to face the room they’d entered.  
  
    It was dark, but as the five of them stepped forward, the room lit up, and revealed an amazing sight. They stood on the edge of an enormous chessboard behind the black chessmen, which towered over them and seemed to be carved from stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces, which were faceless.  
  
    “Now what?” Neville whispered.  
  
    “Isn’t it obvious?” Ron said, sounding far too excited. “We’ve got to play our way across.” He stared thoughtfully, then added, “I think we’ve got to be chessmen.” He walked up to a black knight and put out a hand to touch the knight’s horse. The stone came to life immediately, and the horse pawed the ground with a horrible grinding noise. The knight turned its head to look down at Ron. “Do we - er - have to join you to get across?” The knight nodded.  
  
    “Right,” said Ron. “We’ll have to take the places of five of the pieces, then. Er, don’t be offended or anything, but none of you are all that good at chess-”  
  
    “It’s fine,” said Dudley quickly. “Just tell us what to do.”  
  
    Ron put Harry in place of one of the bishops, and decided that Hermione would be a castle. Neville became the other bishop, and Dudley was appointed the other castle. As for himself, Ron opted to become a knight. The pieces in question turned and walked off the board, and the children stepped nervously up to take their place. “White always plays first,” Ron told them, and sure enough, one of the white pawns moved forward.  
  
    He began to direct the black pieces, which moved in eerie silence wherever he directed them. Dudley’s heart thumped in his chest as he wondered for the first time if the others had done this before, in the timeline he knew. _What a thing,_ he thought, watching Harry move four squares diagonally, _for a bunch of eleven year olds to do._ The first real shock of the game came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, facedown. Dudley’s aching head throbbed in sympathy.  
  
    “Had to let it happen,” said Ron, looking slightly ill, and directed Hermione to take a white bishop. Every time one of their pieces was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Ron moved about the board like a fury, only just noticing in time when the others were in danger, but even he couldn’t be everywhere at once. Neville was dealt a horrible blow to the head by a white castle, and Hermione screamed as he crumpled to the floor. She stayed on her square at a gesture from Ron, who was shaking visibly.  
  
    “He’s all right,” called Harry, who was passed by the castle as it dragged the other boy off the board. “I think he’s just knocked out.” And the game continued.  
  
    It seemed like a lifetime later when Dudley took out a pawn and watched it crawl away, grimacing at the noise of stone on stone, then turned to look at his companions as Harry and Hermione shouted, “No!”  
  
    Nothing seemed to have happened yet, but Ron looked grim, and directly in his path was the white queen. “That’s chess!” he snapped. “You’ve got to make some sacrifices! If I move forward, she’ll take me, which leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!”  
  
    The others hesitated, but Dudley called, “If you’re sure it’s the only way, Ron, then you’ve gotta do it. We’re running out of time!”  
  
    “Don’t hang around once you’ve won!” Ron instructed them, and stepped forward. The white queen pounced, striking him hard with her stone arm, and he fell to the floor. Hermione made a strangled noise as he was dragged away, and then Harry moved three spaces to the left. The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry’s feet in defeat.  
  
    The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. “I’ll stay with them,” Dudley shouted, already making for the unconscious boys. “Go ahead, and be careful!”  
  
    Harry and Hermione nodded jerkily, then pushed the door open and let it slam behind them.  
  
    Exhaling heavily, Dudley crouched beside Ron and Neville and fished in his pockets. He’d made a rough first aid kit earlier in the day and jammed it into the silver manticore box, and now he pulled it out. It wasn’t much - mostly bandages made from strips of old t-shirt, and a basic pain salve he’d nicked from an older student’s stock, but he thought it might be enough for the time being. He cleaned them up, working slowly and carefully, and had just finished dabbing the salve on the cut on Ron’s forehead when he heard the door open again.  
  
    Hermione emerged, looking tearful, and said, “There wasn’t enough potion, Harry had to go alone-”  
  
    “Hold on,” Dudley said, and made quick work of bandaging the cut. “Tell me everything.”  
  
    She described the logic puzzle in the next room, of having to figure out the right potions to let them go through or come back, and at the end of it, Dudley felt ill. “There’s nothing you could’ve done,” he said, patting her hand, “we’ll just have to wait until help gets here. Help me finish this, will you?”  
  
    They’d just decided they could do no more to help when the other door slammed open, and teachers poured into the room. Dudley leapt to his feet, seeing Dumbledore and Snape at the forefront. “Harry’s inside!” he said, running over to them. “Neville and Ron - I think they’re all right, but the chessmen did a number on them.”  
  
    “I’ll go in and get Harry,” Dumbledore said firmly, and swept towards the door. The other teachers rushed to tend to Hermione, Ron, and Neville, assuming that Dudley would follow. He didn’t, instead hurrying after the Headmaster.  
  
    Dumbledore didn’t seem terribly surprised by this, and said only, “Did this happen the first time around?”  
  
    “I’ve no idea,” Dudley confessed, “but it wouldn’t surprise me.”  
  
    They passed through the logic room, Dumbledore deactivating it with a single muttered word, freezing the black flames that barred their passage, and stepped through them. Dudley did the same, and experienced a strange tickling sensation before arriving in the chamber beyond.  
  
    The first thing he saw was Harry, sprawled on the ground, and the second thing was Quirrel, who was hunched over him and screaming. Dumbledore shot forward and wrenched the man away from Harry, and Dudley saw, with horror, that Quirrel’s turban was missing, and there was a terrible face on the back of his head. He flattened himself against the wall, knowing instinctively that it was in his best interests to keep out of range. Strange burns covered Quirrel’s skin, in the shape of small hands, and as he watched, the rest of Quirrel burst into sudden flame. Dudley darted forward as Quirrel crumbled, shrieking, and bent over Harry. His cousin was fine - in better shape than Ron and Neville, at least, though he too was unconscious - and Dudley heaved a sigh of relief. He noticed something red and glittering sticking out of Harry’s pocket, and pulled it free.  
  
    It was the Stone, it had to be. It thrummed in his hand, sending out ripples of power, and Dudley jerked, feeling as if a hook had dug into the back of his neck and yanked. The stone glittered, and across its surface flickered images. Dudley gasped as the feeling in his neck lessened, and lifted his head to find himself in a familiar bedroom.  
  
    “I’m scared, daddy,” said the small girl on the bed, her eyes large. She huddled tearfully in her blankets, clutching a stuffed bear, and as he tried to crawl towards her, the floor fell out from under him, and he was flying over London, the wind whipping his hair, and watching as colorful explosions lit the night sky. They were not fireworks, and left no fire in their wake, only a horrible yawning darkness. As Dudley fell, he felt something tip out of his hand, and there was a scarlet flicker against the dark.


	13. A Beginning

** CHAPTER TWELVE **

  
  
  
    Dudley woke with a start, and was a little bemused to find himself in the hospital wing. He relaxed when he saw Dumbledore in a nearby chair, and even more when he noticed Harry sitting up in the bed beside his. Harry seemed preoccupied, so Dudley looked back at Dumbledore.  
  
    “Er,” he said, “what happened?”  
  
    “I believe,” the old wizard said mildly, “that you hit your head when you fell into the Devil’s Snare, and that, combined with stress and your anxiety, meant that holding the Stone induced a sort of... attack.” He patted Dudley’s arm, and did not say that they would be having a talk in private soon. He didn’t need to.  
  
    “How’s everyone else?” Dudley asked.  
  
    “Perfectly fine,” Dumbledore assured him. “Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom are fully recovered, and Miss Abbot and Miss Granger were completely unharmed, though Miss Abbott is a little hoarse.”  
  
    Dudley sagged in relief, then looked over at his cousin. Harry caught his eye and grinned. For the first time, Dudley noticed that the table between them was piled high with sweets. Candy wrappers and cards were already scattered on Harry’s bed - apparently he’d been awake for a while. “We’ve been in here three days now,” Harry said, and offered him a Cauldron Cake. Dudley took it, then looked at Dumbledore with furrowed brows.  
  
    “What happened to the Stone?” he asked.  
  
    “Destroyed,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “Nicholas and I had a little chat, and agreed it was for the best. Harry told me all about what you’ve been up to - quite exciting, I must say. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some things to see to.”  
  
    After he left, Harry told Dudley everything that had happened, right down to how he got the Stone out of the Mirror of Erised, which Dudley hadn’t even noticed was in the chamber at all. He was just describing how he’d burned Quirrel when their friends rushed into the room, effectively putting an end to the conversation as they chattered.  
  
  
    There was a visit from Hagrid - “It’s - all - my - ruddy - fault!” “There, there, Hagrid, it’s all right!” - and the giant gave Harry a photo album he’d filled with pictures of Harry’s parents, and then they were released. Dudley and Harry made their way down to the end of term feast in silence, and found it decked out in Slytherin colors to celebrate that House’s seventh House Cup victory in a row. As they entered, conversation died, so people could turn and stare at them. Sharing a glance, Harry and Dudley went to their own tables and sat quietly with their friends, and the noise returned in a dull roar. People actually stood up to stare at them, and Cedric looked at Dudley with concern.  
  
    Fortunately, that was about the time Dumbledore arrived, and the babble died away again. “Another year gone!” he said cheerfully. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are a little fuller than they were - you have the whole summer to get them nice and empty before next year starts. Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus; in fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and two points; in third, Gryffindor, with four hundred and twelve; in second, Ravenclaw, with four hundred and twenty-six; and in first place, Slytherin, with four hundred and seventy-two.”  
  
    Slytherin erupted with cheers, several of the students banging their goblets enthusiastically on the table. “Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin,” said Dumbledore. “However, recent events must be taken into account.” The room went very still, and the Slytherins’ smiles faded a little. A murmur of confusion swept through the room. Dumbledore cleared his throat. “I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes... first, to Hannah Abbott-” She turned pink, and tried to hide behind her goblet. “-for astonishing reflexes and an even more astonishing talent for improvisation, I award Hufflepuff House thirty points.”  
  
    The Hufflepuffs let out a cheer that was more startled than anything else, and Susan beamed at Hannah, who was hiding her bright face in her hands. When they died down, Dumbledore continued. “To Mr. Neville Longbottom, for outstanding courage in the face of the unknown, I award Hufflepuff House thirty points.” The Hufflepuffs were beside themselves with excitement, now, and several thumped a sheepish looking Neville on the back.  
  
    Dumbledore gave Dudley a wry look over top of his glasses as the cheers died down once more. “To Mr. Dudley Dursley, for a surprising preparedness and a cool head, I award Hufflepuff House thirty points.”  
  
    It wasn’t enough to even pull them out of fourth place, but ninety points was ninety points, and it more than made up for their loss earlier in the year. But Dumbledore wasn’t finished yet, and as everyone settled, he turned to the Gryffindor table. The Slytherins, who’d started to grin again, now watched tensely. “Now - to Mr. Ronald Weasley-” and Ron went purple in the face, “- for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House thirty points.”  
  
    The table erupted with noise, and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws joined in, sensing a serious threat to Slytherin’s victory. Percy Weasley was beside himself, practically out of his seat with excitement as he bragged to the other prefects. The noise eventually died down, and Dumbledore went on. “To Miss Hermione Granger, for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House thirty points.”  
  
    Hermione buried her face in her arms, shaking, and Dudley suspected she had burst into tears. The table was a mess - Gryffindor was now tied with Slytherin, and it wouldn’t take much to push them into victory. Dumbledore smiled, and said, “Finally - to Mr. Harry Potter, I award Gryffindor House thirty points.”  
  
    Someone standing outside the Great Hall might ahve thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise issuing from the Gryffindor table. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw joined in with a roar of enthusiasm, and the Slytherins looked utterly devastated. “Which means,” Dumbledore called finally, “we need a little change of decoration.” He clapped his hands, and in an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold. The huge Slytherin serpent vanished, to be replaced by a towering Gryffindor lion. Professor Snape shook Professor McGonagall’s hand with a horrible, forced smile, while Professor Sprout beamed down at her House with pride, not forgetting what they had done.  
  
  
    Exam results came in, and the six compared results. Hermione, of course, had the best grades, and Hannah, Harry, and Ron all got decent marks. Dudley and Neville seemed to have just barely scraped by, but they did almost as well as Hermione on the written exams. And then there was a flurry of packing and last minute scrambling about, and as the others went to hunt down Neville’s missing toad, Dudley took himself up to Dumbledore’s office for their last meeting of the year.  
  
    When he arrived, the Headmaster was not yet there, so Dudley contented himself with a little harmless poking around. The scarlet bird, who by now he knew was a phoenix named Fawkes, greeted him with a quiet chirrup, and allowed him to gently scratch its neck. “See you next year, Fawkes,” he said, smiling, then turned as the door opened and Dumbledore stepped inside.  
  
    “Well,” the Headmaster said cheerfully. “How did you like your first year?”  
  
    Dudley grinned. “It was stressful, sir, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I expect you want to know why I didn’t tell you what we were up to?”  
  
    The wizard waved a hand, smiling. “Water under the bridge - I suspected, in any case.” They took their usual seats at the desk, and he said, “Now that you’ve had time to sort through your memories, I would like you to tell me what you know of the coming year.”  
  
    “Just the one?” Dudley asked, surprised, and added, “Aren’t there rules against time travelers doing that?”  
  
    Dumbledore chuckled. “My dear boy, I rather suspect your case is unique,” he pointed out. “And yes, just the one. We might as well take this a year at a time.”  
  
    Humming thoughtfully, Dudley closed his eyes and brought up what he knew. “I know very little, because I learned it all secondhand and many years after the fact,” he admitted.  
  
    “I think any information will be useful,” Dumbledore assured him.  
  
    “Well - something called the Chamber of Secrets opens,” Dudley said finally, opening his eyes. “There’ll be trouble with the Ministry because of it. And of course Harry gets involved again. But I don’t know much else.”  
  
    To his astonishment, Dumbledore went cold and still. “Any deaths?” he asked.  
  
    “Not that I know of,” Dudley replied, and they discussed it further, but he didn’t know anything else. Finally, Dumbledore let him go, and Dudley did so gladly. At the door, however, he paused, and looked back at the Headmaster.  
  
    “Sir?” he said. “I know there are - protections of some kind on Harry, that are tied to my mother. Since we’ve moved, have the protections moved too?”  
  
    Dumbledore, once again all smiles, nodded. “You’ve nothing to worry about there, Dudley,” he said gently. “Enjoy your summer.”  
  
  
    Neville’s toad was found lurking in the toilets, and notes were passed around to all students warning them not to use magic over the holidays. “I always hope they’ll forget to give us these,” said Fred Weasley sadly, and Hermione was inclined to agree.  
  
    “How are we supposed to practice?” she complained to her friends.  
  
    “Wave a stick, I suppose,” Hannah suggested.  
  
    And before long they were boarding the Hogwarts Express, all piling into one compartment and chatting about everything and everything, making plans to visit each other during the summer. They threw Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans at each other as they sped past Muggle towns, a stack of candy for the winner. They stuffed their robes into their trunks and tugged on jackets and coats as they neared their destination, and grew quiet as the train pulled into King’s Cross Station.  
  
    They collected their luggage and shuffled towards the gate, where a wizened old guard let them through in twos and threes so they didn’t attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and terrifying the Muggles.  
  
    Some of the other students called out to the six as they passed, waving cheerfully, and finally, it was their turn to pass through. Dudley and Hannah were last, and to their surprise, found al their families huddled together. There were the Weasleys, already fussing over Ron, and the Grangers and Petunia stood near them, chatting amiably with Ms. Abbott and Neville’s gran. Petunia smiled at Harry and Dudley a little nervously as they stepped up to her, and she rested a hand on each of their shoulders, as if she wasn’t sure quite what to do with them.  
  
    “Ready to go?” she asked.  
  
    Harry and Dudley looked at each other, then at their friends, before grinning.  
  
    “Yeah,” said Dudley, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I think we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all for book one folks!
> 
> Stay tuned for book two, it should start up fairly soon.
> 
> As always, if you have questions, feel free to ask 'em, and if you spot typos or inaccuracies please point them out! I am a bit of a spacecase. Also please please let me know if something seems too OOC for someone.


End file.
